


I WON, I WON, NEENER, NEENER, NEE-NERR!

by diemarysues



Category: Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Humor, MarySues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-25 05:20:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 33,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/635527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemarysues/pseuds/diemarysues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sauron finally gets the Ring and wins the War, but soon learns the downside when he has to deal with MarySues, the 9 and three quarters Nazgûl, Valar!Sues and... worser things. Rated for language, questionable themes and graphic torture scenes.</p><p>(First posted on ffnet, 15 March 2006)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 00 - NEENER!

**Author's Note:**

> Rereading this fic has made me realise how much my writing style has changed in the six years since I first posted it. So, along with the epic rewrite, I've decided on crossposting it here. If anyone wants to read the original, it can be found on ffnet; just type in 'neener' in the search box. 
> 
> Though, I really don't know why you'd want to read the original. I cringe.
> 
> As of today, 18 January 2013, there are 29 chapters and a prologue.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning.

The air around him was boiling, burning his lungs as lava poured metres below the outcropping of stone. Sam watched in horrified fascination as Gollum seemingly wrestled with air – but even in his disoriented state, he knew for a fact that the ‘air’ was Frodo, who had taken the Ring.

 

The Hobbit had no idea why, why _now_ of all times Frodo had succumbed to the will of the Ring. It had consumed him, slowly at first, more and more obviously as they’d gone on – and this, this was the result. Yet Sam found he could do nothing but sit and gape, eyes crossed and mouth open.

 

His thoughts were brought to a halt by the heart rending scream that penetrated his ears and floated above the sound of the swirling lava below. He could see Frodo now, cradling his bleeding hand while Gollum danced in joy behind him.

 

Quite obviously the vile creature had triumphed, with the Ring, his precious, as his reward. Frodo had tears streaming down his cheeks as he sobbed over the loss of his finger, and the loss of the Ring, which had fleetingly been his.

 

Before Sam could rise to his feet – maybe to comfort Frodo, maybe to run Gollum though with his sword – Frodo stopped his despairing and looked up, a maniacal light in his blue eyes. Either that or the glow from the molten rock made him look almost possessed. Maybe he was.

 

The Baggins heir started toward Gollum purposefully, the creature ignoring the Hobbit as he danced and whooped with delight. Frodo made a grab for the Ring and the two grappled, struggling to gain the upper hand, to acquire control of the Ring, to be crowned victor and righteous possessor of that small yet powerful trinket. They pushed and pulled and screamed at each other, feet unerringly, inadvertently straying close to the edge. Dangerously close.

 

“No!” Sam shouted – but it was too late. He hurried to the edge nonetheless, heart in his throat and despair making his chest tight. He heaved an enormous sigh of relief at seeing Frodo hanging there, worryingly looking for all the world like he was going to let go. Gollum, he saw, was falling, falling, falling…

 

He hit the lava, the Ring balancing precariously on his outstretched hand.

 

‘Soon it will be destroyed,’ he thought. ‘Soon that blasted Ring will be destroyed and Mr. Frodo will be normal again and Middle-Earth will be saved.’ Sam leaned over the edge, reached out a hand to pull up his friend – and, of course, that’s when the inexplicable happened.

 

The Ringwraith’s screeching almost burst his eardrums in the confines of the mountain. Somehow, using Fell craft, it threw out a hand and summoned the Ring to its palm.

 

Sam would have fallen to his knees if he wasn’t already on them.

 

The Fell Beast (by the Gaffer, how could this Hellish thing fly in a volcano?) manoeuvred its way so it was level with Sam, each flap of its wings like a thunderclap. The Hobbit closed his eyes and hoped that the pain would be quick.

 

The claws of the Beast enclosed him, and he opened his eyes in shock. All he could see was that he was airborne, with Mr. Frodo gripped in the Fell Beast’s other clawed foot. With the air rushing around and buffeting him about, and the blood rushing to his head from hanging upside down, he could hardly tell where they were going.

 

Gut feeling told him it wouldn’t be pretty, though.

 

Sam was let go, suddenly, and fell to the marble floor with a scream he could not contain. He was immediately bound in strong rope that cut into his skin, and a dirty gag was stuffed into his mouth when he opened it to cry out again. Trussed up like a turkey, he could do nothing more but watch events unfold.

 

Frodo had not been treated as such, no; instead of ropes binding him, Frodo was held back by a single hand. It was a Ringwraith that gripped him, and on his stabbed shoulder at that. The Ringbearer still had that frenzied glint in his eyes, but was clearly in pain.

 

The Witch King, after alighting from his Fell steed, held the Ring in a clenched fist (inasmuch as a hand lacking muscle and sinew could be a fist). The head Ringwraith took a big windup that could be associated with baseball – had the game existed in that world – and let fly.

 

The Ring of Power hit the Great Eye right smack in the middle of His pupil.

 

There was a loud “OW!”, an enormous poof of black smoke, and a thud. As the final tendrils of smoke cleared, Sam gasped. Or he would have gasped if there wasn’t a gag stuffed in his mouth. But I digress.

 

And, in a voice that echoed throughout the whole of Middle Earth, chilling the blood of creatures big and small, Dark Lord Sauron, greatest servant of the Dark Ainur Morgoth (formerly Melkor), ‘The Abhorred’, King of Men, Lord Of The Rings, Gorthaur, the Deceiver, the Necromancer, the Nameless Enemy, Ruler over all of Middle Earth, Wielder of the One Ring, Bigshot I-Told-You-So Boss of Arda, owner of all things EVIL, Yanker of Little Girls’ Ponytails and Elves’ Braids, Wedgie Scourge, The Great Lidless Eye Wreathed in Flame, All Time EVIL,  Puppy-Kicker, The Smite-r of All Who Oppose Him, Maker of the Twenty Rings of Power, Hater of the Númenóreans, Master of Melvins, The Re-re-re-incarnated, Wielder of the Wet Willy, Two-millennia Winner of _Dark Lord Weekly’s_ All-Time Hated EVIL Megalomaniac, etcetera, etcetera, said:

 

“I WON, I WON, NEENER, NEENER, NEE-NERRR!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realise this is being reposted, but AO3 is being a bit of a dick with my chapters, and I accidentally ended up deleting it.


	2. 01 Frodo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are introduced to the Ringwraiths, and have a glimpse into the future of Arda under Sauron's rule. Celebrations commence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: If I owned LoTR, Sauron would have won. Which, incidentally, I’m doing here! Anyway, all props go to the dead man six feet under.
> 
> Warning: Warning? Warning? Blatant disregard of the LoTR trilogy, I suppose.

 

“Ah, dear Hobbit,” said Sauron jovially, inasmuch as an unspeakably EVIL Dark Lord could be jovial, anyway. “Thank you for returning me to body.” He dusted soot off Himself and turned to His loyal Ringwraiths.

 

“All of you – except No. 8 – go and capture the _heroes_ from the Black Gate. Do _not_ forget that sodding heir of Isildur! NOW!”

 

Since no one disobeyed The Voice™, much like no one could stand the Look of Doom (the Look™ for short), the eight Nazgûl mounted their respective Fell Beasts and flew off in the direction of the Black Gate. Except the Witch King rode No. 8’s – his being decapitated and all.

 

Nazgûl No. 8, however, grumbled to herself. Yes, this was the one and only female Nazgûl of the Nine – proving that Men, dead or otherwise, needed someone levelheaded to make sure they didn’t get out of line. Even if the Witch King _was_ their ‘leader’, he listened to No. 8 because he knew what was good for him. Or, to be more accurate, he knew what she’d do to him otherwise.

 

“What am I supposed to do _here_ , my Lord?” she asked, irritated, for she knew she’d be at the mercy of the other Nazgûl’s teasing (being left behind while the ‘big boys’ caught the heroes, et cetera.)

 

“This one is to join our ranks. Get him an outfit,” Sauron said brusquely, waving a hand at Frodo. Then added hurriedly, “Before No. 6 gets back.”

 

No. 8 nodded understandingly, barely suppressing her shudder. That week when No. 6 had tried to get Sauron to try various EVIL Dark Lord outfits (while he was still in Fiery Eye mode) – well, that had been… draining. She beckoned to Frodo with one finger, and he followed, movements jerky and stilted as if he was in a trance.

 

Only after the two had left the chamber did Sauron turn to the still bound-and-gagged Samwise Gamgee.

 

One wave of an EVIL hand had him un-gagged and spluttering for breath.

 

“What are you doing to Mr. Frodo!?”

 

Sauron merely glanced at him before continuing to stare at the pandemonium at the Gates. The view from the top of Barad-dûr (still technically Sauron’s chambers) was spectacular, and Mount Doom gave an ominous rumble in the distance. Then He snickered.

 

“‘Mr. Frodo’ shall become an honorary Nazgûl, although he is neither a human, nor a king. Still, I’ve always wondered about you Halflings, and you’d’ve been my undoing had ‘Mr. Frodo’ not suddenly surrender to the will of My Ring.” At this he admired the band of gold on his finger. How nice it was for all his fingers to be whole. Sodding Isildur, with his sodding father’s sword. Should’ve stomped his brains out.

 

Sauron was brought out of this train of thought when Sam exclaimed, “Honorary Nazgûl! By the Gaffer, Frodo will never be a Nazgûl! You won’t turn him into one! I won’t let you!”

 

Tired of this useless prattle, another wave of His hand (His intact and EVIL hand, you mustn’t forget) had the gag back in Sam’s mouth. “I can and will do what I want, and _you_ certainly can’t stop me. You didn’t stop me from getting the Ring, and you won’t stop me from making Frodo Nazgûl No… 9 ¾.”

 

He snapped His (intact!) fingers and a Man stepped out of the shadows to take hold of the vainly struggling Hobbit.

 

“Take him to the kitchens. I daresay we need someone who can whip up… ‘taters’.” Sauron smirked and waved the Man away, turning back to the lovely view. The White City, Minas Tirith, caught His eye and He grinned. EVIL-ly.

 

If this didn’t rub it into that sodding heir-of-Isildur’s face, nothing would.

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

The screeching of the Nazgûl announced their arrival to Sauron (and to the rest of the inhabitants of the Tower). He waited patiently (as patiently as a busy and EVIL Dark Lord could be) as each of them deposited their spoils before him.

 

Sauron examined them all impassively. There was the sodding Heir-of-Isildur, disturbingly being soothed in the arms of Prince Legolas of Mirkwood. Sauron had to stifle a laugh. ‘Leggy’, as he was called by Them.

 

Then there were two more Hobbits. One looked like a puppy that had been kicked and left out in the rain, while the other had way too much curly hair. Hmm. Maybe He could use the puppy…

 

Another Man, presumably from Rohan judging by his armour as well as the reek of horses around his person. Then a dwarf, red haired and smelling of stone (don’t ask). Next was Gandalf the White. Huh. Gandalf the bleached, more like.

 

And finally was…

 

“What in Udûn is that?”

 

The Witch King shifted guiltily. “It’s a horse. Brego.”

 

“And _why_ would I need a horse named Brego?” Sauron asked, His voice dripping with forced patience.

 

“I… um… didn’t want to come back empty handed, my Lord. You know, if I _did_ have proper hands, of course.”

 

Sauron sighed tiredly. Help these days. “Send him to the kitchens. Maybe our new cook can cook horse and taters for our victory feast.” He laughed as He thought of something else. “And take our guests to… The Room™.”

 

Nazgûl No. 7 gasped. He was elbowed in the ribs. If he did actually have ribs, being a – well, you get the idea.

 

The heroes were separated and had their hands bound before forcibly being hauled off. They exchanged glances with each other as they were marched down the stairs, all wondering what in Valar’s name The Room™ could be.

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

The Orcs that bundled them into The Room were strangely silent, as if unwilling to stir someone – or something – inside it. The heroes were chucked inside as quickly as possible, and the door was barred behind them – quite securely, and for reasons that shall be apparent very soon.

 

The heroes were granted a moment of peace before lights came up from nowhere. So much for not waking the… Thing.

 

All seven of them gazed at it in horror. It was hanging from the ceiling and appeared to have noticed them. Even though blood had pooled in her face, she was unmistakeably beautiful. ( **This is an edit. The original had approximately 42 synonyms of the same word, some repeated and most misspelled.** ) She seemed to be hanging by an ankle manacle with EVIL looking runes on.

 

She spoke. Her voice was loud, and yet managed to sound sweet. But mostly loud.

“Leggy!11! Like, OMG! It’s u, my luv! Come 2 rescue me and well get married!” she exclaimed. Then, “Gornie! You’re, like, here too! You can help Leggy! And –” her eyes widened “– Éomer! You are sooooo soooper hot too! Merry and Pippin… adorable widdle munchykins! We wuv you, yes we do…”

 

They stood there in shock. What manner of being was this creature? She had started to drool, and it dripped steadily into a strategically placed bowl. Mordor wasn’t super clean, but it wasn’t dirty enough to have MarySue drool all over the place. Sauron _did_ have His standards.

 

Aragorn poked Legolas, and whispered, “What’s all this about rescuing her and getting married?”

 

The elf prince, otherwise known as Leggy!11, shot him a pained look.

 

“Like, it hurts! Help me down, and I’ll give you kisses! –giggle, giggle, twitter, twitter, snort- EW, did I just, lyk, snort? Yuck!”

 

In seconds the heroes were banging against the door. “Let us OUT!” came their unified cry.

 

But the only reply was the muffled laughter of the Orcs.

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

“Ta-da!”

 

No. 8 had outdone herself. Frodo was now clothed in tattered black cloth which had a hood that pulled over his head. Around his breeches (for she could not find proper Hobbit-sized Nazgûl clothing) was a belt, from which hung a dagger and short sword, along with a special horn – the purpose of which shall remain ambiguous until the next chapter.

 

He did not wear the pointy boots because he was a Hobbit, but No. 8 had compensated by painting his nails black and silver. But not with nail polish (or varnish) because that didn’t exist in Middle-Earth.

 

“Well done, No. 8,” Sauron acknowledged from His EVIL throne.

 

No. 6 looked sulky.

 

“Thanks, My Lord.” No. 8 smiled – not that you’d notice – and turned to Frodo. “Now, Frodo, meet the rest of the gang.” She pointed out each Nazgûl in turn as she called out their names.

 

“That’s the Witch King of Angmar, you’ve met; Khamûl – we call him Bob; Jasper Darlington Higgins IV, or just Higgins for short; Yomama, he’s the one who goes ‘Shire… Baggins’ all the time, you’ll learn to ignore it; Pavlov; No. 6, the tailor, you may call him Taylor; No. 7; I’m No. 8 and No. 9. You’re No. 9 ¾. Any questions?”

 

“Why don’t No.’s 7-9 have names?” Frodo asked, for the first time speaking in front of Sauron.

 

“Meh, we got lazy choosing original names,” replied No. 9. “Numbers were simpler,”

 

“And now, my loyal Nazgûl, we start the celebrations by welcoming our newest addition; Nazgûl 9 ¾, Frodo Baggins! Cheers!” Sauron raised His chalice of DOOM.

 

There was a chorus of “Cheers!” and a sole “Shire… Baggins!”, and so, Frodo Baggins of the Shire was made a Nazgûl of Mordor.

 

The party afterwards went on until the small hours of the morning… or maybe night; it was hard to tell without the sun. Alcohol was aplenty, and the table in the Main Dining Hall groaned under a huge platter of ‘Horse-and-Taters’. The Orcs who passed by even swore on their lucky swords that Nazgûls 2 - 7 had started a rendition of Riverdance. You know, if Riverdance had existed in Middle-Earth at the time.

 

No one noticed the screams coming from The Room™, and if they did… well, they feigned ignorance.

 

Or laughed.

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am now aware that Khamûl is the one who 'goes "Shire... Baggins"', but seeing as this was written before I knew this... yeah. Plothole. Ssh just go with it.


	3. 02 - Of Koss and... Them.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are introduced to the Keeper of Sauron's Sanity. And several MarySues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Tolkien did all the work. 
> 
> Most of the original writing in this chapter was the work of my sister. Koss belongs to Dagniro Vanaliel; her origins can be located in my ffnet account.

In the tower of Barad-dûr, there was a small room located to the west of where Sauron was currently basing His evil headquarters (before He could move into Minas Tirith to “rub it into that sodding heir of Isildur’s face”). In that room was a small desk facing perhaps the only window in the Tower, for Koss did enjoy staring at Mount Doom and the plateau of Gorgoroth from time to time. The owner of the two booted feet propped up on the table was currently watching the progress of the Cleaning Goblin™ who was mopping the marble floor (for how else would they stay so shiny?).

 

Meanwhile, another goblin attempted to clean and catalogue the many weapons that littered the room. There were swords and daggers and crossbows and bows, but these weapons did not belong to Koss. No, these belonged to Them, as did the pile of shiny lockets, necklaces, brooches, rings and all manner of adornments that sat on a table near the door. In fact, the sole thing Koss valued in that room sat on the desk her feet were resting on; a gift from Sauron for getting rid of one of Them. It was a mace, its designs echoing the one He had carried at the Last Alliance, the one He was rumoured to have brought out of the ruins of Thangorodrim. However, to diffuse the grandness that surrounded the weapon, she had christened it Grond Junior.

 

The Witch-King of Angmar had snorted when he’d heard that. As much as a Nazgûl could snort.

 

An Orc burst into the room, jolting Koss out of her thoughts and causing the Cleaning Goblin™ to knock down a rack of whips. The cataloguing goblin growled slightly at the prospect of more work to do.

 

“My Lady, the Evil One calls for you.”

 

Koss, Keeper of Sauron’s Sanity, rose from her seat, eyes narrowed.

 

“Very well. I shall go,” she replied, smiling a sinister smile. “ _But_ I have something for you to do for me.”

 

He saluted. “Yes, My Lady?”

 

“Sauron’s cat needs feeding, and I need someone to do it.”

 

The Orc’s disfigured face twisted into an expression of fear as he caught the implied meaning. Falling to his knees he begged for mercy, as did all those before him who had forgotten the cardinal rule; never call Koss a lady.

 

Koss heard his screams as he was dragged out of the Tower and allowed herself a little grin before she entered her master’s impermanent throne room.

 

“Your Eye-ness,” she said cheekily, bowing slightly and then taking a seat to wait her turn.

 

Sauron gave her a look when she said it, but not the patented Look™ for He was in a good mood – who wouldn’t if they’d just become king of the world? Koss sat beside Thuringwethil, who immediately bent her head towards her and started giving her updates on Sauron’s plans to transform Lothlórien into his summer retreat. The ‘Woman of Secret Shadow’, who usually took the form of a great bat, currently wore the guise of a meek, brown-haired young woman – though her fingernails were filed down to points and her smile hinted at her sharp set of teeth.

 

As they watched their master set fire to a goblin’s hair, Thuringwethil rummaged around and deposited a single piece of parchment, folded double onto itself, onto Koss’ lap. She muttered that it was from a guard currently posted at the Black Gates. Koss opened it and read the barely legible handwriting, being used to similar scrawls after years at the job. Even so, she had to read the message twice to make sure she hadn’t made a mistake.

 

Koss sucked in a breath. Sauron was _not_ going to be happy when He heard about this.

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

The guard who had sent Koss the message – let’s call him Thrall – was at present standing on the walkway of the Black Gates, a horrified look plastered on his already disfigured face as he took in the sight below him.

 

A gaggle of MarySues, perhaps fifty or so (but the guard couldn’t count, so it might’ve been more), were gathered outside waving homemade banners. On them were printed sayings such as “Let Leggy Go!”, “Sauron’s A Meanie!”, “Free Frodo!”, and “Give Us Gornie!” All the while the Sues waved little plastic figurines of their lust objects.

 

Thrall, like most Orc captains, had attended Koss’ seminar a year ago – so while his Orcs cringed, shank away, and even collapsed at the sounds those Things were making, he leapt into action, snatching up his Sue Horn. It was only to blown if the Sues tried anything – which they were, magically producing rock-climbing gear and scaling the Black Gate.

 

Thrall put the horn to his mouth, and –

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

Miles away, Sauron looked up from the flame-headed goblin towards the Black Gate. Recognising the four short blares of the Mordor Sue Alert, He whipped His head towards His Keeper of Sanity. (The goblin took the opportunity to run out the room, only to trip over his feet and tumble down countless flights of stairs.)

 

“What’s going on?” Sauron boomed and Koss felt Thuringwethil wince beside her.

 

“Ah. I was about to tell you,” she said in a calm voice. “I’ve just received word that there’s a herd of Them outside the gates.”

 

Unexpectedly, The Dark Lord laughed.

 

“I’ll go deal with Them,” He volunteered. “After all, I’ve just won the war; what’s a bevy of MarySues to that?”

 

“Umm… sir? I don’t think that’s wise,” Koss sounded a little flustered, and for good reason. “I realise you’re all happy and stuff, but I don’t think –”

 

She broke off, seeing as Sauron wasn’t listening, already making His way downstairs. She hurried to catch up, muttering things that sounded a little like Orcish profanity under her breath. Thuringwethil undid the single button that held her cloak together and spread her wings, taking her giant bat form. She hastened towards the Black Gate, flying past Sauron and Koss (who had already mounted horses), eager to get there before them. This was something she could not miss.

 

When Sauron and Koss arrived, the Sues had already reached the other side of the Gate thanks to their Sue Powers™, and were demanding to see their beloveds. Sauron chortled, the sound not unlike someone choking, and at the noise forty-seven various weapons were drawn, including a wand and a curling iron.

 

Koss drew her mace and subtly signalled to Thrall and his Orcs to sneak up on the little prisses.

 

“Lyke, who r u?” asked one of them, her hair changing from bright yellow to hot pink to neon orange so quickly it made even Koss dizzy.

 

“I am Sauron, The Lord of the Rings.” Sauron thundered, using His Impressive Voice™.

 

“No ur not!11!” The one with the blue/green/purple/red eyes chirped up. “Sauron’s lyke this giant eyeball!11 The movie said so.”

 

Koss covered her ears, knowing what was coming next.

 

“I AM SAURON! THE ABHORRED! GORTHAUR! THE GREATEST OF THE SERVANTS OF MORGOTH! RULER OVER ALL OF MIDDLE-EARTH!”

 

The Sues exchanged looks.

 

“Who’s Morgoth?”

 

“I thought that my Gornie was ruler over all of Middle Earth?”

 

“I RULE OVER MIDDLE-EARTH NOW, WENCH!” He said, still using The Voice™. And, for good measure: “I AM SAURON!”

 

There was a pause, before a voice suddenly piped up:

 

“So you mean,” began the multicoloured hair girl, “ _you_ own all of Middle-Earth now that Leggy and Gornie are captured?”

 

“YES.”

 

The Sues huddled together for a group discussion. Sauron, unsure of what to make of this unexpected turn of events, looked over at Koss, who in turn was making frantic gestures at Him to run for the hills – for she knew what was about to happen. Before He could ask her what she meant, They had finished their little pow-wow and started talking to Sauron again. This time, however, Koss noticed there was a slight dreamy tone in Their voices.

 

“Does this mean, lyke, you’ll be king and stuff?” one of _them_ asked (Koss’ gestures grew more frantic at this point).

 

“Yes?” A bewildered Sauron replied, startled out of using the Voice™. “But what does that have –”

 

He was interrupted by screams of “OMG” and “Lyke… Sauron’s soooo hawt!1!”

 

Sauron took a step backwards, looking uncertain of what to do. The thing had just called Him ‘hawt’, whatever that meant. He looked around for help as the Sues advanced on Him; Thuringwethil was no use, all smug because she was up in the air away from Them, and he could see even Koss trying to suppress a smile.

 

Closer they came, closer and closer, drool practically dripping from their panting mouths. Sauron considered their feral expressions as they readied themselves to pounce –

 

“NOW!” Koss yelled and the Orc guards, who had been stealthily creping up upon the unsuspecting Sues, sprang onto their quarry.

 

The Keeper of Sauron’s Sanity dispatched the screaming girls with particular passion, wielding her mace vehemently. Even the Orcs gave her a wide berth. Within minutes, the whole hoard of MarySues had been killed as violently as possible, and the Orcs set about removing all their weapons, lockets, and other shiny items to be sent to Koss’ office. The Sues’ bodies would be burnt on the spot for fear of them regenerating.

 

Sauron skirted a puddle of glittery pink/green/blue/purple blood and glared at Koss (all the while ignoring Thuringwethil’s snickers).

 

“When were you going to tell me about this?” He asked her, tapping His foot.

 

“I was _going_ to tell you…” Koss started, wiping blood off her mace with a Sue’s dress. “But then this happened…”

 

Smoke rose from Mount Doom, a sure sign that Sauron was getting impatient. Koss decided that it would be in the best interests of everyone present if she just cut to the bottom line.

 

“This way the MarySues come.”

 

Cue the dramatic music.

 

OoOoOoOoOo


	4. 03 - Escape, of Sorts.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a meeting and two escapes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Again, blatant disregard of canon. Sorry, Mr. Tolkien sir. Mentions of slash.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own the works of J.R.R. Tolkien. Nor do I own anything associated with Mary Poppins, that’s Disney’s turf.

“Alright,” Koss said, her voice loud enough to be heard throughout the huge room filled with assorted minions of Sauron. “We’re here today to deal with the ‘accident’ that occurred earlier this morning.”

 

A tremor ran through the meeting’s staff, as very vivid images played in their minds.

 

“There’s been a sudden uprising in Mary Sues –” (shudders rippled around the room like they were doing the wave) “– due to our recent victory, and our beloved ruler of the world has requested that I come up with a few more safety measures. If you could all turn to page 35 of the handout I distributed during my seminar last year…”

 

Said ‘handout’ was actually a two-hundred (give or take) page tome, fully alphabetized and complete with an index – all about MarySues, their characteristics and, most importantly, how to kill them. If Koss was to sell these books in Mordor, she would’ve been the richest being in all of Middle-Earth. But that might’ve miffed the Evil One.

 

“As you all can see –”

 

“Um… O’ Keeper of Sauron’s Sanity?”

 

The crowd of underlings parted to reveal an Orc, and a rather timid looking one at that. Or maybe it was just because he had just interrupted Koss. He cleared his throat a few times, and she noticed that he didn’t have the Sue Booklet. Oh, great. A new one.

 

“Yes?” she asked with forced patience.

 

“Er, you see… I have a question…” An elbow to the ribs made him continue. “What exactly is… a MarySue?”

 

Instant uproar.

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

 

“So – are we all clear on the plan?”

 

Aragorn looked pale and drawn, mostly due to the fact that the MarySue – who claimed to be Arweena Evenbetterstarr, long lost twin sister of Arwen ( **1** ) – had been driving him up the wall and around the bend with her constant declarations of love and horrible attempts at poetry. But, looking back on it, it _had_ motivated him to come up with said plan in the first place.

 

At the nods of all those present (excepting ‘Arweena’), he cracked his knuckles noisily in anticipation. The MarySue hanging from the ceiling squealed at the sound, declaring that he looked ‘SOOPER hawt’ with that look on his face.

 

“Gornie, your sooo hansum! Take me 2 ur royal bedchambers, giggle! Leggy, u can come 2too! We can hv a 3-some!!!”

 

Not wanting to know what ‘hawt’ or ‘3-some’ meant, the sane occupants of The Room™ gathered around the Drool Pool™. Leggy – sorry, Legolas – made a disgusted face before he switched to ‘Super Hot Elf-Prince’ mode.

 

“Oh, beautiful Arweena, with your many awesome powers, surely it is possible for you to escape?” Legolas stretched one hand out to her as if pining for the love of his life. If he was acting (and he was, for the more dim-witted among you) the MarySue could not tell. Truth be told, though, she was so dumb she couldn’t tell a potato from a tomato.

 

Screwing up her warm chocolate/sky blue/puke green eyes, Arweena started chanting in a language that was foreign to the prisoners, but was actually “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” ( **2** ) in English. A language, of course, that does not exist in Middle Earth.

 

The manacle around her ankle grew white-hot, exploding into tiny fragments. As dictated by the Law of MarySue Fiction, she landed exactly on top Legolas, much to his chagrin. He made a startled and revolted sound as she took control of his mouth, but she must have took it as ardour because she started kissing him harder. Finally, a displeased Aragorn pried her off the Elf prince.

 

Legolas panted, shoving her grabby hands off him, and took a few steps back. The rest of the heroes gave him plenty of space, not wanting to be contaminated by MarySue microbes. He scowled.

 

“Grab her.”

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

The problem with Koss having an emergency meeting of the Servants of Sauron (SoS) was the attendance of the majority of Orcs, Goblins, Wild Men (et cetera) who were supposed to be on duty. This in turn meant that security in Barad-dûr was down – and this was a very bad thing in the midst of a MarySue hullabaloo.

 

It would explain how there was a group of Sues now wandering about the hallways of the Tower, seeking their assorted lust objects. On a normal day, it wouldn’t be long before their messy but effective dismemberment.

 

They were sneaking in the Tower, yes, but very noisily. Each one had her own opinion of where to find and rescue Leggy/Gornie/Éomer/Merry/Pippin/Sam/Frodo/Brego/Leggy/all of the above. The resulting noise was a cacophony of squeals, screams, giggles, screeches and – dare I say it – dreamy sighs.

 

Their temporary leader, a Leggy!1 fan who had a fetish for Frodo/Sam slash, egged them on. “Lyk, comeon gurls, our heros r waiting 4 us!1 Besieds, if we save tem, theyl be soooo gratefl=ul and stuff!1!”

 

“Lets go left!”

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

Koss’ eyes narrowed. “What is your name, soldier?”

 

The Orc gulped nervously, his eyes darting this way and that in his desperate search for assistance. None was forthcoming. “Yûrkhna, O’ incomparable Warden of the Evil One’s Sanity.”

 

“Yûrkhna… tell me, were you present during the Sue crisis at the Black Gate, only one hour ago?” she asked, tapping her foot impatiently on the raised dais she was standing on. Already her fingers were running along the handle of Grond Junior; a few Goblins gulped nervously and backed away from their previous positions right in front of the pulpit.

 

“O’ perspicacious Keeper, I have been indisposed in the infirmary for the past few months,” the Orc replied. For all his nonchalant words, he was shifting from foot to foot. It would have been out of the question to run, though, what with the crowd encircling him. The minions were extremely loyal to Koss, as she’d been the only one to stem the flow of MarySues into Mordor.

 

Koss turned expectantly to the fifth Nazgûl, Pavlov, who was the Nazgûl in charge of all healing systems of the lands of Sauron. Said black-hooded erstwhile-king-of-Man nodded and said, “I can vouch for him. He’s either been in one infirmary or the other, with many an injury. The last one was a twisted arm and a broken collarbone, was it not, Yûrkhna?”

 

The Orc readily bobbed his head in agreement.

 

“Is there anyone else who can vouch for this unapprised Orc?”

 

“Shire… Baggins!”

 

“Thank you, Yomama. Now, Yûrkhna, a MarySue is…”

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

Éomer looked at the MarySue doubtfully. “You think her head will hold?”

 

Arweena smiled and tossed her long and cascading hair, which was also shining, shimmering, attractively tousled, wind-tossed, and had beautiful orange highlights that were _totally natural._ “It’s a good thing I always wear my extra-extra strong (insert modern hair care brand name that won’t be offended with its usage in a fanfic here) styling gel, which keeps my hair in place!1”

 

Aragorn rapped on her head (“ _Ouch_ , Gorny1!”). The sound was like if he’d knocked against a standard issue Gondorian helmet – and, as he had suspected; hollow. “It’ll hold.”

 

“Ready? One… two… three!”

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

“Dotn push moi, biotch!”

 

“ _Ow_!”

 

“Don’t worri my darling honeybunni Gorniekins, I, Ayalina Jadequa Soroniella Truthseeker Dumbledore Moonbeamrider ( **3** ) wil save u with my speshul powers!1”

 

“Im pretty sure itsa right, now, u noe…”

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

“…And, since our nefarious leader is now ruler over all of Middle Earth, the Sues, hungry for power, want Him to be under their control. This means we have to protect the Dark Lord Sauron from these hideous creatures (no matter how ‘beautiful’ they look) before they overrun us and turn our world into one filled with pink, cuteness, bad spelling, exaggeratedly outsized breasts and preposterous names. Understand?”

 

“Thank you, O’ magnificently merciful Keeper of Sauron’s Sanity,” Yûrkhna said, bowing deferentially.

 

She nodded, distracted already, and said, “Someone get him a Sue Booklet.”

 

“Back to page 35…”

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

“By Eru… that actually worked.”

 

They surveyed the splintered remains of the door and the dead body of Arweena Evenbetterstarr with horrified awe. Obviously, her extra-extra strong (insert chosen hair care brand) styling gel could not protect her abnormally thick skull from the expectedly unyielding Mordor door. Bits of her brain (“You mean she actually has one?”) lay here and there, and the party of heroes avoided them like the plague.

 

Aragorn rubbed his hands together. Now, a chance to prove his heritage as the true king of Gondor, the true heir of Isildur – you know, even if the dude had made some bad choices in his life. I mean, he chose not to destroy a band of gold that he could have had replicated by the best goldsmiths of Gondor, but noooo, he had to keep it – look what that got him. A one way ticket to the Halls of Mandos, as well as torturing his heirs in making them clean up his mess. But I digress.

 

“Let’s grab these weapons over here,” said Gimli, pointing to the pile of weapons (obviously). The Orcs had presumably left them behind in favour of attending the Sue-Control meeting.

 

The heroes wasted no time in strapping themselves up in lots of impressive looking armaments, and Aragorn unsheathed his sword unnecessarily with a flourish, pointing it down a corridor.

 

“Gentlemen, may I suggest we go left?”

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

“Ooooh, my spidey sense is tinggling…”

 

“Sistres, I’m gonna wander of alon so dat maybe sum Orks qwill capture me & my Eomre can save me… Any1 wanna come wif?”

 

“Im not ur sister, biotch!”

 

The MarySue who had spoke earlier – one Britney Christina Jessica Justintimberlake Hasselhoff – stopped and stared at her with wide, rapidly colour-changing eyes. “Bt, aren’t u lyk, Aslan’s daughter??”

 

“No no, u got it wrong, Im the daughter of Simba!” exclaimed the Sue called Simbaneena Kittylion Wolverina Rowr.

 

“Owh…”

 

“My daddy’s the lyon frmo the New York Zoo! His names Alex! But he gt trasfered to Madagas Car… cos he’s soooo sooper importante.”

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

“…the few smarter ones among you may attempt to use Logic to defeat Them. Ask her where’s she’s actually from, how she got here, why her hair changes colour, anything to point out that she doesn’t belong here. Then when the Logic finally seeps in – and this may take a long while – she will disappear in a puff of pink smoke. Or, she might spontaneously combust.

 

“For the _rest_ of you –” here Koss broke off to stare pointedly at Nazgûl number 7, who was busily trying to pick his invisible nose “– I recommend the list of sayings on page 162, such as ‘I think your hair’s mussed up’ or ‘There’s a spot of dirt on your dress’ or the ever popular ‘Is that a _zit_?’. This will give you adequate time to sound the Sue alarm.

 

“For those who are completely and utterly hopeless, you can always pretend to look behind her and say ‘Leggy, put your clothes back on!’”

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

“Now… which way is Sauron’s quarters?”

 

Pippin tugged on Aragorn’s tunic. “Strider?”

 

“Quiet, Pippin, I’m using my mad Ranger skillz, yo!”

 

“Legolas…”

 

“Not now, young Took – can’t you see I’m utilizing my sooper kewl Elf moves here?”

 

“Don’t forget my Rohirric Rohan-ness!” chimed in Éomer.

 

Pippin sighed. How had they not noticed the giant sign that practically screamed ‘Sauron’s Quarters’? He tried Gandalf.

 

“Silence, Fool of a Took! The war between mutants and humans is nigh! With Mystique and Pyro by my side, I am infallible!”

 

Everyone turned to stare at him dumbfounded.

 

“Say what?”

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

“Shh! Can u grls hear that??”

 

“Hear what/?”

 

_Sooper kewl Elf moves… mad Ranger skillz, yo… sooper kewl Elf moves… mutants and humans… say what?...Rohirric Rohan-ness!_

“SQUEE!”

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

Merry looked up. “Did you hear something?”

 

Gimli gripped his ‘borrowed’ axe tightly. “Sounds like a stampede.”

 

“I… have heard this fell sound before,” exclaimed Legolas. “It’s somewhat akin to the raging Oliphaunts we met on the fields of Pelennor!”

 

“I’ve heard it too!” Aragorn said, not wanting to be outdone by some prissy Elf.

 

“I somehow doubt Oliphaunts made such high, squealing noises,” commented Gimli.

 

A pause – and then their eyes widened as they simultaneously came to the obvious conclusion.

 

“RUN!”

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

The bevy of Sues had the same idea.

 

“It _is_ them1! RUN!”

 

The heroes were fast and so made it back into The Room™ just in time for Gandalf to bar the doorway with his magic. They all heaved a sigh of relief when the MarySues whacked into an invisible wall. The relief increased tenfold when it became clear that They couldn’t get past, no matter how much they screeched and clawed and drooled.

 

A hideous sight, needless to say.

 

Then, the daughter of ‘Alex the Lion of Madagas Car’ (also known as Lionpuppycub Iliketomoveitmoveit Stripes) noticed something. She called the others quickly.

 

‘Sauron’s Quarters’ said the large sign. The arrow on it pointed to their right.

 

“SQUEEEEE!!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) For the purposes of this story, Arwen will be dead. Or, if you want, you can imagine her to have sailed to the Undying Lands.
> 
> (2) Is that how you spell it? Here it’s just spelled phonetically.
> 
> (3) Borrowed from Citygirl’s ‘The Mary Sues Cometh’ in the Harry Potter section of ffnet.


	5. 04 - Krispy Kittens.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sauron is cornered, and Koss must deal with the Problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own LoTR because I’m not famous, nor am I rich. And I’m not dead either. (No disrespect!) Thanks again to Dagniro Vanaliel, for the loaning of Koss. Sue names that appear in this chapter (and the whole fic) are either taken from various MarySue manuals, made up by yours truly or pinched from real MarySue fics. Shudder.
> 
> Warning: Insanity, implied slash, and MarySues.
> 
> Canon? What canon?

It wasn’t long before the multitude of MarySues (for more had teleported, Apparated, and otherwise appeared, adding to their numbers significantly) reached the long and twisting staircase that led to Sauron’s quarters.

 

So off they went, pushing and shoving (and in the case of some, jostling for place in the air) and otherwise wanting, needing to be the first one to Sauron, the ZOMG ALL POWERFUL NEW LEADER OF THE WHOLE WORLD, SQUEE!, to be the first one to beguile him into marrying one of them.

 

Truth was that he was far more besotted with the gold ring on his finger – even the Trolls knew that, and that was saying something. And there was that obvious snag of him spending a lot of the Last Age in the form of a GIANT EYE OF WRITHING FLAME. But, hey, all an EVIL lord needed was a hug, right?

 

Right.

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

Koss was wrapping up her meeting, trying to dismiss everyone before Nazgûl 6 decided that anti-Sue suits were in order. They did not have time (or energy) to get all the Servants of Sauron (SoS) measured and fitted for Sue repelling outfits.

 

Besides, she could imagine Sauron’s battalion comparing notes on inseam lengths and complaining on how ‘ _his Sue-fit is better than **mine**!’._ Yes.

 

She was just about to hand out the new schedule when a high-pitched screech rang out, reverberating around the whole of Barad-dûr.

 

“KOSS! GET HERE NOWWW!”

 

Said Keeper of Sanity sighed and rubbed her temples resignedly. “If it’s _another_ kitten in his bathtub, I _swear_ …” She looked up, and said, “Nazgûl 8, if you’d be so considerate as to distribute these and dismiss the troops? I need to see what our superlative leader wants _this_ time.”

 

As one – or, more accurately, as one and three eights – the SoS stood and saluted the Keeper of Sauron’s Sanity before she left the room. It was imperative that they have a high regard for her. Shelob was never _fully_ satiated, after all.

 

“KOSSSSSSSSS!”

 

She sighed again, in aggravation, and started up the secret stairs that was her way into Sauron’s quarters in such emergencies – wondering with each step what in the Valar’s names the Dark Lord wanted her for _now_.

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

Said Dark Lord, greatest of all the servants of Morgoth, was currently clinging on to the giant chandelier in His Main Quarters for dear life. The reason? Why, don’t you know? The MarySues had invaded. Sauron was, of course, furious. They had dared deign themselves worthy of courting Him, when they weren’t even worth licking the gunk off Yomama’s boots? Yes, the Sues were not even worth _that_.

 

Sauron would have made them realise this, if they had not swarmed Him in His _private_ Quarters. Really, what did the Ruler of the World have to do to get some peace?

 

Right now, the biggest threat was the Sue Xacanythia. She wuz a slender, pail Elvishe women 2 da eyes, tough her colourig was eggsotic - brite sylver hair wif strakes of white init, ^& brihte sylver eyes. It wuiz onli wen she turnde and lokd @ sum1 tat dey realzed here was a people of immensely age years old. Her iyes shoned& sparklied wif tat age years, ricH an& tick wit lite. And they shud. Xacamythia had been bourn ofa union among an Elfs anda dragon, long ago in a galazxy far, far away, wen the draggons hadnot yeilded2 evil ad culd stil assume the form of Elvas. She cold see lyhke either, bt 4 a looooong thyme she had preferered dis two-leggs formation, with wings on her back, wen shewas not actually really ravaginging. ( **1** )

At least that was what she told Him (in her own words, of course), all the while buzzing around His head. She was more reminiscent of a fly than a dragon, really. And, besides… what fool of an Elf would unite himself/herself with a great hulking, scaly, treasure-obsessed, flying lizard? Sodding Elves. Thinking they were sooo special, being able to do whatever they pleased.

 

That was His niche.

 

One of the Sues had actually tried to force some kind of drink down his throat. Sauron didn’t get to where He was (leader of Middle-Earth, in case you forgot, which you shouldn’t) by being stupid.

 

**Well, there _was_ that one time…**

 

Yeah, never mind about that.

 

The Sues were becoming more and more impatient, wanting to ensnare Him with cheap poetry and even cheaper glittery eye shadow. There were even a few who were trying to start a pillow fight. They were goading Him down to join them with many a flutter of cowlike eyelashes – or, at least, attempting to. Koss had told Him about Sue pillow fights. They were just an excuse to remove already skanky items of clothing, lure the desired lust object to a conveniently moonlit balcony/alcove, followed by proclamations of undying love and tonsil hockey.

 

He shuddered and resolved to have His bedthings and pillows incinerated.

 

Xacanythia (or was it Xacamythia?) made another grab for the Dark Lord, but the chandelier was doing a very good job of shielding Him from any attacks. Where was His Sanity Keeper?! He could already feel His good sense slipping away between his ears…

 

“KOSS!”

OoOoOoOoOo

 

“Are you sure it’s safe, Strider?” Merry looked worried, and for good reason.

 

The Ranger sniffed and immediately regretted it. The corpse of Arweena Evenbetterstarr (which had been left to rot after her brief stint as a door ram) gave off the smell of lavender, blueberries and about every single perfume known to the mankind of modern Earth. Quite the stench.

 

“Of _course_ it’s safe, Merry. It’s not like I’m going to _touch_ it.” And touch it he wouldn’t. Only a suicidal maniac would be fool enough let MarySue drool touch his bare skin. “Now, observe.”

 

His hand, wrapped up in a piece of white cloth (Gandalf wasn’t very happy about _that_ ) held the Drool Pool™ aloft in its bowl. He motioned for everyone to stand back, and carefully tipped the bowl so that a drop of the killer drool fell to the floor.

 

The pure black marble hissed and sizzled. Smoke rose in plumes. Everyone coughed and waved their hands in front of their eyes – all except for Pippin, Merry and Gimli, who were too low to the ground to actually be affected by it.

 

As the air cleared, surprise was clear on everyone’s faces (except Aragorn, the conductor of this little experiment). The single drop of Sue Spit™ had burned a palantir sized hole in the floor. And there was a _whole_ mithril bowl full of the stuff…

 

“I think,” Éomer said, grinning wickedly, “we have our way out.”

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

Koss muttered to herself cantankerously. _Why_ had she agreed to be Sauron’s Sanity Keeper? As soon as she thought that, she winced. It _definitely_ beat the alternative. ( **2** )

 

Grond Jr. bounced comfortably on her hip as she climbed the seemingly never-ending flight of stairs. They led all the way from the bottom of the tower of Barad-dûr to Sauron’s Quarters at the very top. She had had it built the first month she had started her duties as Keeper of Sauron’s Sanity. Only Class A personnel could access it; that meant only her and the nine (and three quarters) Nazgûl.

 

It was only meant to be used in the most terrible of situations. But to Sauron, her employer and Supreme Ruler of Middle-Earth, these ‘most terrible of situations’ could mean anything to not being able to find his favourite helmet to something disgusting on his windowsill. (It had been a cute little squirrel, the last time. How _that_ had gotten into Mordor, she’d never know.)

 

Needless to say, then, she was quite surprised to see Sauron hanging from the ceiling chandelier, above a mass of scantily clad Sues ripping apart pillows. Some were even airborne – she made a mental note to contact the archers about that.

 

When Koss had entered, she’d slammed the door open – being the only one who dared do so in Sauron’s Quarters; not that he was ever shocked, of course. An EVIL lord of the world had a reputation to uphold, especially in front of his employees.

 

The sound made the Sues stand motionless (except for the few flying Sues – they stopped flying and gravity did her job; satisfying thuds and cracks were heard). Then one particularly Sue-ish one, all ‘cascading blond tresses’ and ‘full pouty lips’, gave a dazzling smile that almost blinded Koss.

 

“Excelent!1 Reinforcements!”

 

Koss was incensed. Never mind that this Sue knew such a long word like ‘reinforcement’, she had called Koss… one of _Them_. Something she was _not_ about to forgive. A twisted smile spread across her face.

 

“Wrong side, sweetie.”

 

Sauron gave an EVIL cackle from his position perched comfortably above them all. “Oh, Koss, you always crack me up.”

 

“Crack up, alright,” she muttered, and gave four short bursts on her Sue Horn.

 

Grond Jr. was let loose.

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

The heroes finally breathed clean air, and they surveyed their work as the smoke dissipated. Drop after drop of the Sue Spit™ had been… well, dropped into the indent they had created earlier. It had burned clean through the marble (Sauron would _not_ be pleased), forming quite a large hole. Better than nothing, at any rate.

 

Fortunately, (or maybe _un_ fortunately) Gandalf had the gift of foresight, and suggested that one of them peer down and see what lay beneath before they all jumped down with much gusto.

 

Legolas was picked for this job. When he asked for a reason, the White Wizard said that it was because he was the prettiest. He wasn’t very happy about that, but it was usually very bad to have an Istari angry at you. So, muttering Elvish profanity that made Aragorn blush and Gimli frown, puzzled, he kneeled down and peered down the hole.

 

“OMG… is dat _Leggy’s eyeball_?!!!11!!”

 

“SQUEE!”

 

“I GET HIS EYELASH!1!”

 

“I WANNA HIS IRIS!”

 

Immediately, fifteen hands with terrifyingly long talons of hideous sparkly colours poked out of the hole, just as Legolas jerked his head back in alarm.

 

At that point, Éomer went hysterical, overwhelmed by the overall Sue-ishness. He bit back the urge to vomit, instead letting out a frightened scream, and grabbed Gimli’s helmet. (“Hey!”) Then, the King of Rohan jammed said head covering repeatedly into the hole until it stuck. A lone hand (which had nine-inch claws painted blood red) twitched slightly. The still-crazed Éomer stomped on it. Twice.

 

Pippin raised an eyebrow. “Guess _that_ way’s out of the question then.”

 

“Shut up, you **(censored)** fool of a Took.”

 

“I thought you only called me _Fool_ of a Took!”

 

“That’s only the nicey nice version for kiddies. **(Censored).**

 

“Oh. So now I’m a **(censored)** foolof a Took?”

 

“Damn straight.”

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

Koss had slaughtered the first few Sues with a passion – but as a Sue’s hard-yet-hollow head had crumpled under Grond Jr., a thought came to her. A thought that unfolded into a very insidious and evil plan. Evil enough to compete with Sauron, you ask? Probably. Yes. Very much so.

 

So when backup arrived, she gave the hand signal that made the underlings scratch their heads (not literally, of course; that would mean re-sheathing their weapons.) But they did what their training taught them to do, and complied with her (strange) order, lest they be punished.

 

It wasn’t long before Lord Sauron could again stand on His own two feet. The EVIL Look of Doom was sufficient to keep the servants scared enough to keep quiet. For their own good.

 

The Sues were clapped in irons and marched all the way back down, Koss taking point position. Not as their leader, of course. Sauron had given her an odd look when he’d seen her displaying remarkable constraint in not dismembering the Sues, but He did not question it. He was just relieved that His Quarters were now Sue-free.

 

So began their long trek down the long and winding stairs. It was also the longest walk Koss had ever endured, as will be established by the following sentence.

 

The Sues did not take to _walking_. At all.

 

“My foots hurt!123!!”

 

“I tink t3h rhinestoens falled off my shoos!!”

 

“ZOMFG, I broked a _nail!1!1!1_ ”

 

Almost immediately, all of the Sues present started screaming blue murder. The fey sound bounced off the walls, trouncing the shrieks of the Nazgûl. Most of the Orcs guarding the Sues crouched down, hands clapped over their ears.

 

After the malevolent sound had finally dissipated, one Sue sniffled piteously. “I wanna my Leggy-poo!”

 

The multicoloured eyes of all the Sues swivelled in her direction. A Barbie-clone next to her elbowed her in the ribs.

 

“ _Helooooo_ , I _told_ u kay, who has all the munni, lyk, to pay 4all of ur cloths, jewwelerey, n _shoes_!1?”

 

A dawning look appeared in her blue – no, yellow – no, magenta eyes. Then she sniffed again. “I wanna my Sauron-poo!”

 

The Sues returned to their whinging, screaming and flipping of outrageously long hair. One tripped over her ‘fiery-red locks’, broke her bonds, and went tumbling down the stairs. They all heard her screams, her body thudding down the steps (much like the corpse Pippin had pushed down the well in the mines in Moria) and the sickening crack of her spinal cord.

 

Koss gave a little snicker.

 

As they finally ( _finally_ ) neared The Room™ Koss stopped in shock. The door lay in splinters on the floor. She rushed forward, but stopped and heaved a sigh of relief when she saw what was actually happening.

 

The Man with the horse-hair helmet was running around in circles. She couldn’t remember his name, only that he was from Rohan. He’d obviously gone off the deep end – but it was still odd that the rest of the ‘heroes’ were in The Room™ when the door was wide open.

 

She stretched out her hand and poked the air, not very surprised when it came across an invisible door. Before she could come up with a solution to removing it, one of the Sues caught sight of Legolas.

 

“OMFGZ!1! LEGGY!!1”

 

Said Sue somehow broke free of her chains, and ran forward, straight at her ‘Leggy!!1’. Straight at Koss. The Keeper of Sauron’s Sanity stepped to the side neatly, and the Sue ran past her –

 

Smacking straight into the invisible barrier.

 

This in turn did two things. One: the Sue in question shattered the invisible door into pieces, killing her in the process, and two: drew all the Sues’ attention towards the five most eligible bachelors in Middle Earth. Oh, and the wizard and dwarf were in there too. Their screams filled the air once more, but this time it sounded more like a Backstreet Boys concert. (Actually, they were called the IthilienStreet Guys, who played music with rocks in.)

 

“MARRY ME MERRY!!11&^”

 

“PICK MI PIPPNI!”

 

“ELOPE WIT ME EOMRE!!@!”

 

“U R GRATE GORNIE.”

 

“SQUEEEEEE@@@@!”

 

As one, the Sues surged towards the now open door and at their lust objects. Poor Éomer went even more insane. So much for the King of Rohan.

 

Koss cautiously stood in the doorway of the Room™ and smiled a satisfied smile as she watched bevies of Sues swarm ‘Gornie’, ‘Leggy’, ‘Eomre’, Merry and Pippin. The Wizard and the Dwarf stood at a safe distance away, most probably thanking their lucky stars none were after them. After all, in Sue fics, Gandalf was always GrumpyMentor!Gandalf, and Gimli was the smelly old short… thing on legs. Or nonexistent.

 

She called one of the Orcs over, and told him to get a new, better door fitted for the room. “Preferably one made of mithril,” she added.

 

The hurried tread of feet announced the presence of a messenger. “My-um, O’ Koss?” The Harad looked nervous, and was currently thanking his gods that he had caught himself in time.

 

She raised her eyebrows and signalled for him to continue. A letter was passed to her.

 

“From the Dark Lord Sauron, O’ Warden of His Sanity.” The Harad bowed and continued on his way – and if Koss noticed that his walking was more a run, she did not deign to comment. She unfolded the scrap of paper and recognized the hand of her employer.

 

_Koss, I want to see you in my Quarters. As soon as you think necessary. Which means NOW._

_Dark Lord Sauron, greatest servant of the Dark Ainur Morgoth (formerly Melkor), ‘The Abhorred’, King of Men, Lord Of The Rings, Gorthaur, the Deceiver, the Necromancer, the Nameless Enemy, Ruler over all of Middle Earth, Wielder of the One Ring, Bigshot I-Told-You-So Boss of Arda, owner of all things EVIL, Yanker of Little Girls’ Ponytails and Elves’ Braids, Wedgie Scourge, The Great Lidless Eye Wreathed in Flame, All Time EVIL,  Puppy-Kicker, The Smite-r of All Who Oppose Him, Maker of the Twenty Rings of Power, Hater of the Númenóreans, Master of Melvins, The Re-re-re-incarnated, Wielder of the Wet Willy, Two-millennia Winner of Dark Lord Weekly’s All-Time Hated EVIL Megalomaniac, etcetera, etcetera._

_P.S. Could you get me a fried squirrel, or a Krispy Kitten? I don’t know – something cute and crunchy. Maybe even some of those Gummi Worms you like… except not Gummi. And those Fish Fingers, except not so… Fish._

_Sauron :-)_

OoOoOoOoOo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Modified from ‘The Game of the Gods’. Check it out, it’s on ffnet.  
> (2) Please see ‘Keeper of Sauron’s Sanity’ by Dagniro Vanaliel, on my ffnet account (All-Knowing Alien 2).


	6. 05 - Queer Orc for the Straight Orc.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Koss gets a day off (against her wishes) and receives an unexpected visitor. The Nazgûl visit Minas Tirith for Frodo's first assignment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All belongs to Tolkien. Not me. Oh, Koss ain’t mine either.
> 
> Warning: Grab a barf bag. The Sues do that to you. Oh, and the implied slash and insanity too.
> 
> Muchly important A/N that I don’t usually do: regarding Sauron’s marital status, that will be coming up in a few chapters. Don’t worry. As for Éowyn… well.

For the second time that day, Koss tramped up the emergency stairs, on this instance with a Southron laden with a tray of delicacies for the Dark Lord Sauron, greatest servant of the Dark Ainur Morgoth (formerly Melkor), ‘The Abhorred’, King of Men, Lord Of The Rings, Gorthaur, the Deceiver, the Necromancer, the Nameless Enemy, Ruler over all of Middle Earth, Wielder of the One Ring, Bigshot I-Told-You-So Boss of Arda, owner of all things EVIL, Yanker of Little Girls’ Ponytails and Elves’ Braids, Wedgie Scourge, The Great Lidless Eye Wreathed in Flame, All Time EVIL,  Puppy-Kicker, The Smite-r of All Who Oppose Him, Maker of the Twenty Rings of Power, Hater of the Númenóreans, Master of Melvins, The Re-re-re-incarnated, Wielder of the Wet Willy, Two-millennia Winner of _Dark Lord Weekly’s_ All-Time Hated EVIL Megalomaniac, etcetera, etcetera.

 

Where were we…? Ah, yes, Koss. As mentioned, the Keeper of Sauron’s Sanity was marching up the stairs. What her employer with the numerous titles wanted, she would know now.

 

The door slammed open and Koss scowled when she saw Sauron calmly sitting on His throne. One day, one day she’d get Him…

 

She gave a short bow. “Your Eye-ness.”

 

The Southron behind her made a low sweeping bow, which she had to give him credit for, seeing as he was still holding the overloaded tray.

 

The Dark Lord seemed pleased as the servant placed the serving dish on a low table next to Him. He took His time choosing delicacies the Mordor cooks had prepared (excluding Sam, of course; the poor Hobbit couldn’t stomach the notion of cooking cute, furry animals) oblivious to the Southron who took his leave (closing the door quietly behind him) and Koss, who was looking impatient.

 

There was a loud crunching noise as Sauron finally made His choice. Koss looked up just in time to see a black tongue flick a fingernail back into His mouth. Shudder.

 

“Koss, I have called you here for a very special reason.”

 

“What, you’re getting married?”

 

Sauron chuckled a bit, and it sounded like the little rocks that roll down the mountain before the impending avalanche. “As if _that_ will ever happen. I mean. Not that I _want_ to get married, or anything,” He clarified, lest He sound piteous, or something. And as an EVIL Dark Lord, that would simply _not_ do.

 

“Actually, I’m going to give you a day off.”

 

Koss started. Surely He was not serious? “But, my Lord, I have been in your service for-”

 

“I know, I know; many, many years,” He cut in smoothly.

 

“I was going to say 923 years, five months and twelve and a half days ( **1** ). Not that I’m counting, or anything.” She stood with her arms akimbo, undaunted that she was in the presence of the EVILest Dark Lord, lyk, evah! “I’ve never taken a day off! Do I really need to go around besmirching my record _now_?”

 

“Now, now, Koss, I’m sure we can handle _one_ day without you.” Sauron pointedly ignored Koss’ snort of disbelief. His voice took on a menacing tone. “Take a day off _now_ … you need it, come on. After all you’ve done.”

 

Koss decided to resort to childish behaviour. Nothing else was working, anyway. Abandoning all decorum, she stomped her foot and pouted. “I don’t wanna!”

 

Sauron used the Voice™.

 

“DAY OFF. NOW.”

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

Thusly, some time later found Koss sat beside a little streamlet (the same place where Sam and Frodo/Nazgûl 9 ¾ had replenished their water during their futile quest to destroy the ring) holding a reflector up to her face and dressed in Mordor’s latest line in swimwear.

 

Thinking murderous thoughts involving Sauron and ‘suitable’ wives, it was small wonder why she didn’t hear nor see the Sue. An arrow was aimed in her direction. Or somewhere in her general direction anyway. Koss cocked an eyebrow at the Sue.

 

“What do you want?”

 

“Iam gonna save myt Gorniekins and Leggypoo!1! And u wont stopp me, b!@#! (A/N: Hee, hee, dis wuz y its pg13!) For I am Adriennetta Bernadettinala Cassiopeia Deelylahe Ekelcitry Fynelooking Goddessina Hectorina Isadora Jizrahulio Katherynne Lilalolelu Mirrillillilli Napthaleney Orriegynn Picadillylillylolly Qwestchan Rockerfellaskank Selinamelinadelinadinar Tuttifrutti –”

 

Koss focused her attention on her reflector, reasoning that a MarySue with such a drawn out and mind-numbing name would be of no challenge.

 

“– Unicornmasterprincess Vampyrempress Wallawallabingbang Xeroxmaschinne Yuckumucky Zazazooom 1234567890 Scotch Broom Cytisus Scoparius Staminate Pistillate Photosynthesyse Monokotledonnes Jermineating Pinktwinkle Ashlee Mynameissoverilongg Redorangeyellowgreenblueindigoviolet Raynebowe Iama Konceeted Beeyotch LeggysSexiHunni –”

 

Apparently, the Sue still had no intention of letting up. Koss briefly toyed with the idea of making her repeat herself. …nah. Best her ears only bleed the once.

 

“– Therealauthor’shandshurt Andeherbraynetoo Hihohiho Snowwhite Redrose Shitbrown Pukegreen Sylvasparkliedwagon Icecreamisyummylicious Idonwanna Goetoskuul Ukan’tmaketheth Memummee Eyeh8addmathstutionne Nuttibanana Childeofdarknessandlight Potter-Malfoy-Weasley-Granger Dumbledorinnina Pevensie Corlath Duhterminator Scoobydoobydoo –”

 

Maybe if she asked the Sue to recite the extremely long name underwater?

 

“– Turner-Sparrow-Norrington Bush Austeena Powerz Bond Spyhigh Imgoying2dissektwhyte Mousiesonwednesdie Mitosis Congruency F=ma Northsoutheastwest MethHighschoolis dabest Tralalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalala –”

 

The Sue, who had been turning interesting shades of pink, followed by blue, then purple, suddenly keeled over dead. And Koss hadn’t had to lift a finger, even.

 

“And she was just getting to the best part.”

 

At that moment, someone else jumped out at her, this time brandishing Elvish blades like she knew how to use them. Or, more accurately, like he knew how to use them. A regal looking Elf stood before her, assessing the situation; taking in her lava-print bikini and the Orcs standing beside her, one waving a shield up and down so as to create a breeze and the other holding a chilled drink. Koss sized this one up, trying to gauge whether or not he was a threat to her wellbeing.

 

Thinking fast, she draped an arm melodramatically over her forehead and exclaimed, “Save me please, good sir, for I am being tortured by these foul Orcs!” She fluttered her eyelashes becomingly for better effect.

 

For dramatic purposes, she supposed, he promptly dropped his long knives and made a great show of unhooking his bow from his back and restringing it impressively, flipping his hair over one shoulder in the process. Koss could have sworn she heard him humming theme music under his breath. Rolling her eyes, she snapped her fingers and the Orc waving the shield lifted it up above the Elf’s head – and brought it down sharply with a resounding clang.

 

She waved her hand at the other Orc, taking her drink from him, telling him to drag the Elf to the Room™. The other Orc was instructed to resume his fanning.

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

It was relatively quiet in the Room™, a major difference from when we last left the heroes to their fate with the Sues. A new door had indeed been fitted while the heroes (minus Gimli and Gandalf) did battle with their stalkers.

 

The Sues (what was left of them, anyway) were in a pile in the corner, not unlike the pile of Orc carcasses Éomer and his men had burned in Rohan, near Fangorn. But the Horse Lord was in no condition to talk in complete sentences, much less burn Sues – he was too busy crouching in the corner, twitching. Legolas was in the opposite corner, muttering to himself and jumping at every slight sound.

 

Gimli sat, humming happily to himself. He had killed most of the Sues, and was presently stringing shiny Sue teeth into a necklace. He would present it to the Lady Galadriel once they got out of this mess. A Sue-venir™.

 

Merry and Pippin were playing ‘Hot Potato’ with a Sue’s familiar, a ferocious looking kitten, while Aragorn refereed. Gandalf was propped against the wall, snoring and oblivious to the furore around him that was Gimli’s humming, Merry and Pippin’s shouts of glee, Legolas’ ramblings, the kitten’s hissing and Aragorn’s cheers.

 

Suddenly, there was the sound of the bolt being dragged across the mithril door. Gandalf the White jerked awake with a start, and the Sue’s familiar hit the floor with a soft thud. The door opened and a bundle consisting of expensive Elvish robes and silky brown hair was unceremoniously dumped on the floor. The bundle cursed.

 

“It’s Figwit!” Aragorn exclaimed with wonderment in his voice, and Éomer immediately fell out of his stupor. Merry and Pippin ran forward, hands clasped and eyes shining. Even Gimli stopped thinking about Galadriel. For awhile. But then he realised who it was and went back to being indifferent to the presence of the ‘omnipotent’ Figwit.

 

Legolas’ eyes grew wider. “Not him,” he whispered to himself, hoping it was a really, really horrifying nightmare. “Not here.”

 

“How did you get captured, Figwit?” Gandalf asked, smiling benevolently at the Elf.

 

The Elf’s eye twitched very slightly. Very slightly. Then he put on a dazzling smile and exclaimed, “It took a hundred Orcs and all of the nine Nazgûl to subjugate me!”

 

Legolas snorted. “You probably were only taken down by _one_.”

 

As one, the rest of the heroes under Figwit’s spell turned on him.

 

“You’ve always been like this, Legolas!” Aragorn reprimanded sharply. “You were always envious of Figwit!”

 

First it’d been the loss of the War of the Ring. Then there was the lack of uncontaminated water, the Sues, and now the appearance of the dearest brother Figwit coupled with the mutiny of his so-called friends – there was only so much he could take.

 

Legolas _snapped_.

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

The two Orcs on either side of Koss (her designated drink holder and shield fanner) were engaged in heated deliberation.

 

“You wake her up,” one Orc, Afiĭq, said, motioning towards Koss with the shield.

 

“No, _you_ wake her up,” retorted Ħąaris, baring his yellow teeth.

 

“You wake her up!”

 

“No, you!”

 

“You!”

 

“You!”

 

“ _You_!”

 

Just then, Koss shifted a little, and murmured something that sounded horribly like, “Kill them… kill them all…”

 

Silence reigned.

 

“Maybe we’ll tell her later,” suggested Ħąaris after awhile. “I mean, it’s not like it’s important, or anything.”

 

Afiĭq relaxed. “Yeah. Later.” He resumed his fanning.

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

Sauron’s army had already breached the White City of Gondor (for the second time) and had progressed to the highest level. The White Tree had been chopped down, as it had died. Besides, why would Sauron want an ugly, discoloured tree?

 

All nine and three quarter Nazgûl were there, for it was little Frodo’s first ever mission. They stood just outside the Houses of Healing (H-o-H), where Faramir and Éowyn were quite obviously healing. The Halfling’s job was to infiltrate the place and lure out the Shieldmaiden of Rohan and the young Captain of Gondor. The Nazgûl gave friendly pats on Frodo’s shoulder, offering sagely words of advice, like “Don’t trip over your robes” and “Shire… Baggins!” and “Nine times forty-two is lemonade”.

 

And so Nazgûl 9 ¾, formerly the Hobbit Frodo Baggins of Bag End, squared his shoulders, smoothened his robes, pushed open the doors to the House of Healing (with some minor difficulty), and entered.

 

Around five minutes passed with no real incident (unless you counted the flaming body of a Gondorian soldier being shoved off the citadel by a group of Orcs as an ‘incident’) and the rest of the Nazgûl started calling out bets. You know, on whether or not their latest member could actually carry out the deed.

 

“I’ll give him another five minutes ‘til he comes out without them,” Nazgûl 3, Higgins, offered magnanimously.

 

Bob sneered under his hood. “I bet 17 Eyes he’ll come out screaming for his mummy.”

 

(Just in case you didn’t know, Eyes were the currency in Mordor, silver coins in the shape of Sauron in his eye form. Mordor Money™, if you will.)

 

“Shire… Baggins!”

 

The other Nazgûl were stunned. “You actually think he’ll come out in the next 30 seconds with both humans?” Nazgûl 9 asked, amazed.

 

Yomama nodded, and motioned that they pay attention to the expert.

 

“I’ll bet you my favourite jewelled dagger you’re wrong!”

 

“ _I’ll_ bet all my Eyes you’re wrong!”

 

“Shire, BAGGINS.”

 

“I –”

 

They stopped their bickering as the door to Gondor’s H-o-H opened. Frodo walked out… followed by Faramir and Éowyn. Smug, Yomama waved a hand and a group of Orcs jumped out of the shadows and knocked both humans out, binding them with rope.

 

All the Nazgûl (excluding Yomama and Frodo) gave a glare in Yomama’s direction and swarmed around Frodo. He seemed to be in one piece, with nary a tear in his robes or a hair on his foot out of place.

 

“How did you manage it, Nazgûl 9 ¾?” the Witch King of Angmar asked, something nearing admiration in his voice.

 

The littlest Nazgûl smiled. “My little secret.”

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

An Orc, a Harad and a Corsair stood with their heads together in the middle of the throne room of Gondor, while a Goblin groaned under the weight of numerous drawings and sketches. The three of them were the best designing team in Mordor – you’ll have to think _'Queer Orc For the Straight Orc'._ ( **2** )

 

Pandemonium surrounded them as various members of the SoS pulled down the many statues of past kings of Gondor. Pretty soon, when all the dust had cleared, all that remained was the throne. And broken bits of marble. And Cleaning Goblins™. And a little side table that was quite pretty and sturdy and was deemed acceptable as it wouldn’t do to waste. But I digress.

 

The plan was to have sculptures of Sauron in various poses erected: one of him in the armour he wore during the War of the Ring, one of him holding up Grond to the stars, one of him blowing kisses, and one of him… in the nude. Shudder. The one intended for out front was the best though; a huge marble statue of Sauron flipping the bird (“They cut it off, but I got it back!”) took the place of the White Tree. Quite the artistic touch.

 

“Alright you guys,” the Corsair said, consulting his notepad and pushing his meticulously washed hair out of his face. “Lord Sauron wants the whole place in black and red.”

 

The Harad groaned. “He _always_ wants it in black and red! Have you _seen_ Barad-dûr? Omivalar, talk about repetition!”

 

“You have to agree that they _do_ go together you know. And the Dark Lord isn’t exactly fond of bright colours.” The Orc, one of the original designers of the Tower of Barad-dûr, tried hard not to wrench the Harad’s earrings out of his ear. How _dare_ he insinuate the colour plan was dull.

 

“He has a point.”

 

“What point?” The bold patterns of paint on the Harad’s face only served to make him look all the more unwavering. “The fact is that this is a _new_ base for Lord Sauron! A new beginning! A new age of terror and reverence! A new colour scheme!”

 

“He has a point.”

 

The Orc sighed. These amateurs had no clue. “Very well. But you can take all the acknowledgment for this work.”

 

The Harad sniffed. “Of course. Now, I was thinking about painting the bedroom a nice duck-egg blue, and the throne room urple…”

 

OoOoOoOoOo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Koss was born in the year 124. She joined Sauron in 2096 at the age of 1972. Now it is the year 3019, and she has worked for Sauron for 923 years, being 2895.  
> (2) Borrowed with permission from “Sauron’s Throne” by biggstrek. Thanks!


	7. 06 - We Forgot about the Others.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Koss meets with an old... acquaintance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Insanity, slight slash and MarySues. Their teeth are shiny, precious.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own LoTR. The claim has been dissed!
> 
> A/N: To those that do not know, Figwit is the Elf you see both in the Council of Elrond and Return of the King. In FoTR, you first see Figwit when Frodo offers to take the ring. In RoTK, he’s the one who tells Arwen to (basically) get her butt moving. His name is actually the acronym of “Frodo Is Great- Who Is That?!”. For the purposes of this story, he is also Legolas’ older brother. I suppose you could call him a Gary-Stu.  
> As for the colour ‘urple’, it really is a colour; please consult the “The Official Fanfiction University of Middle-earth” by Camilla Sandman. I did _not_ mean it to be purple.
> 
> That is all; enjoy my humble offerings of humour.

Éowyn and Faramir came to just as the Orcs carrying them entered Barad-dûr. Noticing this, the head Orc ordered they be put on their feet and walk. He didn’t want his squad to spoil the ‘namby-pamby humans’, as he so eloquently put it.

 

As they neared the Room™, all nine (and three quarters, damn you) Nazgûl passed by. Éowyn stopped dead in her tracks, causing Faramir to bump into her and the Orcs to hiss in displeasure.

 

“Y-You’re the Witch King of Angmar! I _killed_ you!” she exclaimed in horror, and would have pointed at… him – it – whatever – had her hands not been bound by chains. (The Orcs quite obviously weren’t taking any chances.)

 

One of the Nazgûl, presumably the Witch King, surprised her and the young Captain of Gondor by sticking out his tongue. Or what would have been a tongue after a millennia or so. “To borrow a phrase; Neener!” he said, and turned on his heel, laughing.

 

Bewildered, both humans were bundled into the Room™ as quickly as possible, while the rest of the Nazgûl followed their ‘leader’ and stalked off (with the exception of Frodo, who had to run a little to keep up. To his credit, he was doing it imposingly). Their bonds were removed, and both stared at the bizarre sight of dead bodies of… Things piled into a heap in the corner of the Room™ - distraction enough for the Orcs to slam the door behind them.

 

“Sister!”

 

Éowyn had no warning when Éomer launched himself at her and hugged her gleefully, spinning her around in circles until she was ready to throw up. Okay, so she _did_ throw up.

 

“Sorry, Éomer,” she apologised, wiping the corner of her mouth. “Still haven’t recovered from the battle at Pelennor.”

 

Said Horse-Lord looked distastefully at the gunk all over the front of his previously shiny armour, and raised his eyebrow. “If this stains, I will _kill_ you,” he threatened.

 

Aside from this touching sibling reunion, the younger brother of Boromir was embraced heartily by Thorongil, or as he was more commonly known in this age, Aragorn. Gimli watched this exchange with narrowed eyes; he did not want to trust this new Man anytime soon. If he was anything like his brother or father…

 

“What news do you have of the rest of Middle-Earth?” Gandalf pressed eagerly.

 

“Well, I don’t have much, but that’s because I have been in the Houses of Healing…” He shot what he thought to be a discreet glance at Éowyn and promptly blushed a fetching shade of crimson. (The Authoress pauses while the Faramir!fangirls simultaneously coo at their ‘sooper-cute Mir-mir’ and scowl at Éowyn for snagging him.)

 

Aragorn and Gimli shared a look. Gandalf shook his head, sighing, and briefly contemplated whether to hit the younger (and only-surviving) son of Denethor upside the head with his staff, much like he did _to_ Denethor when the ex-Steward had thought that son dead.

 

…Nah.

 

Faramir continued, his voice now more subdued. “But Minas Tirith has been taken, up to the topmost level. Is it true that the dark lord Sauron has won?”

 

The heroes that had been at the Last Battle exchanged glances. Sauron’s gloating rang clear in their ears.

 

All at the same time, they nodded.

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

Both Afiĭq and Ħąaris finally agreed to carry Koss back to the tower of Barad-dûr. This they did, with much grunting and hushed swearing, bearing her in between them across the Plains of Gorgoroth. And, with the power of the potent fast forward button, we are able to skip this pointless scene.

 

Because the line between day and night were extremely blurred in Mordor, it can only be said that Koss woke up in her office a few hours later. At once, the Orc in the doorway stood to attention.

 

“We have caught the Shieldmaiden of Rohan and the Captain of Gondor, O’ Sanity Keeper. Gondor has fallen into Lord Sauron’s hands.”

 

“That’s nice. Thank you, Thrall.” Koss smiled at the newly appointed Captain. The guard (who had bowed and left) had been promoted due to his speedy action at the Gates a few days back. Or what had seemed like a few days, at any rate. Koss changed back into her normal attire and was just lacing her Oliphaunt hide boots when another Orc knocked at her door.

 

“O’ Iniquitous One, the Pointy Ear in the Room™ demands that he see a… _Lana_. He will not stop throttling the pretty one, either.”

 

“Pretty one?”

 

“The other Elf, O’ Most Bounteous and Merciful One. The brown haired one.”

 

She waved him out with orders to bring Legolas to her office, a frown creasing her forehead.

 

‘ _Pretty_? Since when does an Orc willingly use a word like _pretty_?’ she thought. Arda was in some serious trouble if the Servants of Sauron could be turned by a show-offy Elf. Figwit, she thought his name was. (What kind of self-respecting Elf went around with a name like _Figwit_ , anyway? Then again, what kind of Elf hummed his own theme song under his breath, or carefully plucked his eyebrows?)

 

All that was rendered utterly meaningless once she remembered what _exactly_ the Orc had told her. Legolas had been demanding to see Lana…

 

 _Lana_ …

_Lana was the daughter of Elrond. She was beautiful, with shining chocolate waves to her perfectly shaped hips. Her waist was pinched in, and her chest pushed modestly at her revealing, yet perfectly modest, gown. Her sapphire eyes surveyed the room. Elrond loved to throw feasts, and this one was in her honor. It was time she chose a husband..._

Koss suddenly had to sit down. She clutched at her head, barely suppressing a moan. It felt like a herd of Trolls was trying to bash their way out of her skull. With spiked clubs.

“ _My lady,” Legolas said, bowing ironically to her. “Would you care to dance?” Lana accepted, and Legolas led her out onto the dance floor._

This could not be happening. This could NOT be happening. After 923 years (five months and twelve and a half days), she had almost erased all memory of her past – but now it had come back to haunt her with a vengeance.

 

_Legolas pulled Lana towards him, and…_

“O’ Malevolent Keeper of Sanity?”

 

Koss looked up and saw the same Orc, this time with a bound and gagged Legolas in tow. She stood immediately, shaking her head to clear her mind (out, out evil thoughts!), and waved a hand carelessly at the Orc.

 

“You may leave us. Stand guard outside in case I… need assistance.” The Orc bowed and did as bid, the door shutting quietly behind him.

 

For a few moments Koss and Legolas regarded each other in silence (except Legolas couldn’t speak anyway – because of that gag, if you care to remember), this being the first time in 923 years (five months and twelve and a half days) either of them acknowledged what had happened in both of their pasts.

 

Finally, Koss grabbed the gag out of Legolas’ mouth. She sat in her chair and propped her feet on her desk, not bothering to offer to untie the other Elf’s bonds. “You wanted something?”

 

He took his time answering. It was as if he was puzzled about something, the way he was looking at her, analyzing. It would have been unnerving if Koss hadn’t already gotten used to Sauron staring at her in his Great Lidless Eye Wreathed with Flame mode. And you know you can outstare anyone who can’t do the Look™.

 

“Why?” he asked finally. “Why have you turned to Sauron?”

 

She shrugged and gave him a bright smile. “Evil’s just easier.”

 

He was silent at this.

 

A thought struck Koss and she carefully remarked, “I hear Figwit’s in town.”

 

At once the Elf’s facade became terrible to bear. Or, it would be, if Koss wasn’t already used to the far, far worse faces of the Nazgûl, various members of the SoS, as well as Sauron. But, getting on with the story, Legolas’ mouth twisted into a feral snarl, and it seemed as if a black cloud of evil-ness shrouded around him. (The Authoress sighs as she has to pause again, as the Goth!Sues squeal at how hot AngstyDark!LeggyChan looks!1!) In fact, the effect was quite spoiled when the Mirkwood prince started coughing on said ‘evil shadow’.

 

Koss stifled a laugh.

 

“But – _cough_ – Lana –”

 

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “ _Not_ Lana. Koss.”

 

“What kind of a – _cough_ – name is Koss?”

 

“It is my title. Keeper of Sauron’s Sanity. I protect him from… Them.” She grinned to herself, as she recalled 923 years (five months and twelve and a half days) of dismembering Sues and similar creatures. Ah, good times.

 

“Anyway, _Koss_ , I have come here for… an offer.” Legolas tried his best to look princely.

 

“What have you to offer me that the Ruler of Arda cannot give me on a mithril platter?” She steepled her fingers and surveyed him coolly. What she’d said was true; Sauron had already promised to give her Rivendell and Isengard to do what she would.

 

“My services, O’ Keeper of Sauron’s Sanity.”

 

Koss couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing.

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

Many a league away, the charred bodies of a Corsair and a Harad that had previously made up two-thirds of the Best Designing Team of Mordor were tossed off the citadel, much to the amusement of the guards there. Sauron’s Guard, that is.

 

The Orc, last of the team of _Queer Orc for the Straight Orc_ , kneeled in front of an incensed Dark Lord Sauron, greatest servant of the Dark Ainur Morgoth (formerly Melkor), ‘The Abhorred’, King of Men, Lord Of The Rings, Gorthaur, the Deceiver, the Necromancer, the Nameless Enemy, Ruler over all of Middle Earth, Wielder of the One Ring, Bigshot I-Told-You-So Boss of Arda, owner of all things EVIL, Yanker of Little Girls’ Ponytails and Elves’ Braids, Wedgie Scourge, The Great Lidless Eye Wreathed in Flame, All Time EVIL,  Puppy-Kicker, The Smite-r of All Who Oppose Him, Maker of the Twenty Rings of Power, Hater of the Númenóreans, Master of Melvins, The Re-re-re-incarnated, Wielder of the Wet Willy, Two-millennia Winner of _Dark Lord Weekly’s_ All-Time Hated EVIL Megalomaniac, etcetera, etcetera.

 

“WHAT POSSESSED YOU TO ALLOW THEM TO PAINT MY _THRONE ROOM_ THIS… **HIDEOUS** COLOUR?”

 

“My Dark Lord, it was only to teach them a lesson. They had criticised your choice of colour scheme.”

 

“FOOLS. IF ONLY I COULD REINCARNATE THEM AND KILL THEM ALL OVER AGAIN. AH WELL. RED AND BLACK, SRAKH. NO MORE NONSENSE. OR IT WILL BE _YOU_ I TOSS INTO MOUNT DOOM.” Sauron, EVIL extraordinaire, turned on the heel of His mithril boots and stalked off impressively – although it had to be said that the effect was rather spoiled by the urple that reflected off His armour.

 

Srakh stifled a sigh of relief, and waved the Goblins with the paint brushes over.

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

“Are you serious?” Koss asked finally, after succeeding in getting her breath back. It was rare you truly got anything ridiculous to laugh at (excluding the ludicrousness of MarySues, of course).

 

“My lady, I can assure you that I’m dead serious.”

 

Koss’ eyes narrowed. “Call me ‘lady’ again,” she said dangerously, “and I will personally ensure that you be castrated in the worst possible way – then abandoned in a hall of Sues with _no_ chance of escape.” She paused. “No, no, scratch that. Sues first, then castration. Yes.”

 

Legolas’ eyes were wide with fear. He could see how a lady – no, not lady, darn it – had survived and gained the respect of the SoS. Koss’ smile of satisfaction at his discomfort set his teeth on edge.

 

“I’m serious, Koss. I wish to join your ranks.”

 

She sighed, and rubbed her eyes tiredly. It _would_ be good to have another underling to boss about. And this one was an ex-Fellowship member. And an Elf princeling the Sues tended to go gaga over. Hmm… that last could be used to their advantage.

 

“I assume this is to one up your brother.”

 

“I have no idea what you mean.”

 

“Very well. I shall go see the Dark Lord.”

 

Legolas beamed. (The Fangirls squeed in delight. The Authoress growled.)

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

“But Koss, I wanted him to be a stripper in Mordor Rouge!” Sauron whined childishly, belying His true EVIL Dark Lord-ness. The Goblin holding the reins of His horse carefully edged away from Him.

 

“That’s all very well and good, my Lord, but there are benefits. The rest of the heroes will be seriously demoralised at the mutiny of their friend. Especially the Heir of Isildur.”

 

“Sodding mortal,” Sauron muttered but motioned that she continue. If the idea screwed up the sodding wielder of Anduril, then it couldn’t be a bad one…

 

Koss hid her grin, deciding it would be more professional to celebrate her success out of sight and earshot of her employer. “It could also be a new method of torture for the Sues. We could have them chained up and he could walk by just out of their reach. Preferably shirtless, or something.”

 

After a while of dallying and feeble attempts at proving He wasn’t interested in the idea (when the opposite was true), Sauron finally nodded.

 

“The Elf Legolas of Mirkwood… is now under My service. See to his lodgings, Koss. I’m going to fry some Goblins in Mount Doom. That always cheers me up…”

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

While this was happening; said Mirkwood Elf was seated in the office of the Keeper of Sauron’s Sanity. He was contemplating what he would do to that ‘prissy nancy Figwit’ once he was employed by the Dark Side (for want of a better phrase).

 

Suddenly, the door burst open, and a few people came through. But the term ‘people’ was quite inaccurate. More suitable words would be along the lines of ‘Manly Men’ and ‘Pretty Boys’, for that was what they were.

 

There was no point in spending time and effort (and puke) in describing each and every one of them. Suffice it to say that there was one Goth, two Elves, one punk rocker and… a cowboy. Shuddertwitch.

 

They looked at Legolas’ quizzically, and he stared right back. Who were these peoples that were allowed to roam Koss’ office so? Why on Arda was one wearing scary face paint? What manner of weaponry was it that they carried? And… _why_ was one looking at him like that?

 

Legolas was the first to break the silence. “Who are you?”

 

(The fangirls remained silent, despite the ‘charming set of Legolas’ jaw’. That was because the Authoress had laid it on them with a sledgehammer. The chapter shall go on without any more interruptions. Praise Illuvatar.)

 

“My name is Eragon HarryPotter Dragon Slayer,” said the pink-haired Elf. “And theseth are my compainions; Blackwolf the Beastmaster (the other Elf); Deathdeathdeath Soo E. Cide (the Goth); Artemis Alex ObiwanKenobi FowlRider Pitt (the punk rocker); and MacDonald McEggins McCheekin McSuperSize Maccers MickeyD’s (the cowboy). Who areth thou?”

 

“I am Legolas Thranduillion of Mirkwood,” the newly Dark Side-d Elf introduced himself. The ultimate mistake, as it always was. You’d really think he’d learn.

 

“OMGQ!1 Leggy! So HAWT!” The cowboy exclaimed, and made a grab for the aforementioned – or, actually, afore-screamed – Elf, knocking over his Goth companion, Deathdeathdeath Soo E. Cide (who immediately started muttering to himself about how the world hated him and how he really needed a knife right now). ( **1** )

 

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!! KOSSSSSSSSSS!”

Éowyn and Faramir came to just as the Orcs carrying them entered Barad-dûr. Noticing this, the head Orc ordered they be put on their feet and walk. He didn’t want his squad to spoil the ‘namby-pamby humans’, as he so eloquently put it.

 

As they neared the Room™, all nine (and three quarters, damn you) Nazgûl passed by. Éowyn stopped dead in her tracks, causing Faramir to bump into her and the Orcs to hiss in displeasure.

 

“Y-You’re the Witch King of Angmar! I _killed_ you!” she exclaimed in horror, and would have pointed at… him – it – whatever – had her hands not been bound by chains. (The Orcs quite obviously weren’t taking any chances.)

 

One of the Nazgûl, presumably the Witch King, surprised her and the young Captain of Gondor by sticking out his tongue. Or what would have been a tongue after a millennia or so. “To borrow a phrase; Neener!” he said, and turned on his heel, laughing.

 

Bewildered, both humans were bundled into the Room™ as quickly as possible, while the rest of the Nazgûl followed their ‘leader’ and stalked off (with the exception of Frodo, who had to run a little to keep up. To his credit, he was doing it imposingly). Their bonds were removed, and both stared at the bizarre sight of dead bodies of… Things piled into a heap in the corner of the Room™ - distraction enough for the Orcs to slam the door behind them.

 

“Sister!”

 

Éowyn had no warning when Éomer launched himself at her and hugged her gleefully, spinning her around in circles until she was ready to throw up. Okay, so she _did_ throw up.

 

“Sorry, Éomer,” she apologised, wiping the corner of her mouth. “Still haven’t recovered from the battle at Pelennor.”

 

Said Horse-Lord looked distastefully at the gunk all over the front of his previously shiny armour, and raised his eyebrow. “If this stains, I will _kill_ you,” he threatened.

 

Aside from this touching sibling reunion, the younger brother of Boromir was embraced heartily by Thorongil, or as he was more commonly known in this age, Aragorn. Gimli watched this exchange with narrowed eyes; he did not want to trust this new Man anytime soon. If he was anything like his brother or father…

 

“What news do you have of the rest of Middle-Earth?” Gandalf pressed eagerly.

 

“Well, I don’t have much, but that’s because I have been in the Houses of Healing…” He shot what he thought to be a discreet glance at Éowyn and promptly blushed a fetching shade of crimson. (The Authoress pauses while the Faramir!fangirls simultaneously coo at their ‘sooper-cute Mir-mir’ and scowl at Éowyn for snagging him.)

 

Aragorn and Gimli shared a look. Gandalf shook his head, sighing, and briefly contemplated whether to hit the younger (and only-surviving) son of Denethor upside the head with his staff, much like he did _to_ Denethor when the ex-Steward had thought that son dead.

 

…Nah.

 

Faramir continued, his voice now more subdued. “But Minas Tirith has been taken, up to the topmost level. Is it true that the dark lord Sauron has won?”

 

The heroes that had been at the Last Battle exchanged glances. Sauron’s gloating rang clear in their ears.

 

All at the same time, they nodded.

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

Both Afiĭq and Ħąaris finally agreed to carry Koss back to the tower of Barad-dûr. This they did, with much grunting and hushed swearing, bearing her in between them across the Plains of Gorgoroth. And, with the power of the potent fast forward button, we are able to skip this pointless scene.

 

Because the line between day and night were extremely blurred in Mordor, it can only be said that Koss woke up in her office a few hours later. At once, the Orc in the doorway stood to attention.

 

“We have caught the Shieldmaiden of Rohan and the Captain of Gondor, O’ Sanity Keeper. Gondor has fallen into Lord Sauron’s hands.”

 

“That’s nice. Thank you, Thrall.” Koss smiled at the newly appointed Captain. The guard (who had bowed and left) had been promoted due to his speedy action at the Gates a few days back. Or what had seemed like a few days, at any rate. Koss changed back into her normal attire and was just lacing her Oliphaunt hide boots when another Orc knocked at her door.

 

“O’ Iniquitous One, the Pointy Ear in the Room™ demands that he see a… _Lana_. He will not stop throttling the pretty one, either.”

 

“Pretty one?”

 

“The other Elf, O’ Most Bounteous and Merciful One. The brown haired one.”

 

She waved him out with orders to bring Legolas to her office, a frown creasing her forehead.

 

‘ _Pretty_? Since when does an Orc willingly use a word like _pretty_?’ she thought. Arda was in some serious trouble if the Servants of Sauron could be turned by a show-offy Elf. Figwit, she thought his name was. (What kind of self-respecting Elf went around with a name like _Figwit_ , anyway? Then again, what kind of Elf hummed his own theme song under his breath, or carefully plucked his eyebrows?)

 

All that was rendered utterly meaningless once she remembered what _exactly_ the Orc had told her. Legolas had been demanding to see Lana…

 

 _Lana_ …

_Lana was the daughter of Elrond. She was beautiful, with shining chocolate waves to her perfectly shaped hips. Her waist was pinched in, and her chest pushed modestly at her revealing, yet perfectly modest, gown. Her sapphire eyes surveyed the room. Elrond loved to throw feasts, and this one was in her honor. It was time she chose a husband..._

Koss suddenly had to sit down. She clutched at her head, barely suppressing a moan. It felt like a herd of Trolls was trying to bash their way out of her skull. With spiked clubs.

“ _My lady,” Legolas said, bowing ironically to her. “Would you care to dance?” Lana accepted, and Legolas led her out onto the dance floor._

This could not be happening. This could NOT be happening. After 923 years (five months and twelve and a half days), she had almost erased all memory of her past – but now it had come back to haunt her with a vengeance.

 

_Legolas pulled Lana towards him, and…_

“O’ Malevolent Keeper of Sanity?”

 

Koss looked up and saw the same Orc, this time with a bound and gagged Legolas in tow. She stood immediately, shaking her head to clear her mind (out, out evil thoughts!), and waved a hand carelessly at the Orc.

 

“You may leave us. Stand guard outside in case I… need assistance.” The Orc bowed and did as bid, the door shutting quietly behind him.

 

For a few moments Koss and Legolas regarded each other in silence (except Legolas couldn’t speak anyway – because of that gag, if you care to remember), this being the first time in 923 years (five months and twelve and a half days) either of them acknowledged what had happened in both of their pasts.

 

Finally, Koss grabbed the gag out of Legolas’ mouth. She sat in her chair and propped her feet on her desk, not bothering to offer to untie the other Elf’s bonds. “You wanted something?”

 

He took his time answering. It was as if he was puzzled about something, the way he was looking at her, analyzing. It would have been unnerving if Koss hadn’t already gotten used to Sauron staring at her in his Great Lidless Eye Wreathed with Flame mode. And you know you can outstare anyone who can’t do the Look™.

 

“Why?” he asked finally. “Why have you turned to Sauron?”

 

She shrugged and gave him a bright smile. “Evil’s just easier.”

 

He was silent at this.

 

A thought struck Koss and she carefully remarked, “I hear Figwit’s in town.”

 

At once the Elf’s facade became terrible to bear. Or, it would be, if Koss wasn’t already used to the far, far worse faces of the Nazgûl, various members of the SoS, as well as Sauron. But, getting on with the story, Legolas’ mouth twisted into a feral snarl, and it seemed as if a black cloud of evil-ness shrouded around him. (The Authoress sighs as she has to pause again, as the Goth!Sues squeal at how hot AngstyDark!LeggyChan looks!1!) In fact, the effect was quite spoiled when the Mirkwood prince started coughing on said ‘evil shadow’.

 

Koss stifled a laugh.

 

“But – _cough_ – Lana –”

 

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “ _Not_ Lana. Koss.”

 

“What kind of a – _cough_ – name is Koss?”

 

“It is my title. Keeper of Sauron’s Sanity. I protect him from… Them.” She grinned to herself, as she recalled 923 years (five months and twelve and a half days) of dismembering Sues and similar creatures. Ah, good times.

 

“Anyway, _Koss_ , I have come here for… an offer.” Legolas tried his best to look princely.

 

“What have you to offer me that the Ruler of Arda cannot give me on a mithril platter?” She steepled her fingers and surveyed him coolly. What she’d said was true; Sauron had already promised to give her Rivendell and Isengard to do what she would.

 

“My services, O’ Keeper of Sauron’s Sanity.”

 

Koss couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing.

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

Many a league away, the charred bodies of a Corsair and a Harad that had previously made up two-thirds of the Best Designing Team of Mordor were tossed off the citadel, much to the amusement of the guards there. Sauron’s Guard, that is.

 

The Orc, last of the team of _Queer Orc for the Straight Orc_ , kneeled in front of an incensed Dark Lord Sauron, greatest servant of the Dark Ainur Morgoth (formerly Melkor), ‘The Abhorred’, King of Men, Lord Of The Rings, Gorthaur, the Deceiver, the Necromancer, the Nameless Enemy, Ruler over all of Middle Earth, Wielder of the One Ring, Bigshot I-Told-You-So Boss of Arda, owner of all things EVIL, Yanker of Little Girls’ Ponytails and Elves’ Braids, Wedgie Scourge, The Great Lidless Eye Wreathed in Flame, All Time EVIL,  Puppy-Kicker, The Smite-r of All Who Oppose Him, Maker of the Twenty Rings of Power, Hater of the Númenóreans, Master of Melvins, The Re-re-re-incarnated, Wielder of the Wet Willy, Two-millennia Winner of _Dark Lord Weekly’s_ All-Time Hated EVIL Megalomaniac, etcetera, etcetera.

 

“WHAT POSSESSED YOU TO ALLOW THEM TO PAINT MY _THRONE ROOM_ THIS… **HIDEOUS** COLOUR?”

 

“My Dark Lord, it was only to teach them a lesson. They had criticised your choice of colour scheme.”

 

“FOOLS. IF ONLY I COULD REINCARNATE THEM AND KILL THEM ALL OVER AGAIN. AH WELL. RED AND BLACK, SRAKH. NO MORE NONSENSE. OR IT WILL BE _YOU_ I TOSS INTO MOUNT DOOM.” Sauron, EVIL extraordinaire, turned on the heel of His mithril boots and stalked off impressively – although it had to be said that the effect was rather spoiled by the urple that reflected off His armour.

 

Srakh stifled a sigh of relief, and waved the Goblins with the paint brushes over.

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

“Are you serious?” Koss asked finally, after succeeding in getting her breath back. It was rare you truly got anything ridiculous to laugh at (excluding the ludicrousness of MarySues, of course).

 

“My lady, I can assure you that I’m dead serious.”

 

Koss’ eyes narrowed. “Call me ‘lady’ again,” she said dangerously, “and I will personally ensure that you be castrated in the worst possible way – then abandoned in a hall of Sues with _no_ chance of escape.” She paused. “No, no, scratch that. Sues first, then castration. Yes.”

 

Legolas’ eyes were wide with fear. He could see how a lady – no, not lady, darn it – had survived and gained the respect of the SoS. Koss’ smile of satisfaction at his discomfort set his teeth on edge.

 

“I’m serious, Koss. I wish to join your ranks.”

 

She sighed, and rubbed her eyes tiredly. It _would_ be good to have another underling to boss about. And this one was an ex-Fellowship member. And an Elf princeling the Sues tended to go gaga over. Hmm… that last could be used to their advantage.

 

“I assume this is to one up your brother.”

 

“I have no idea what you mean.”

 

“Very well. I shall go see the Dark Lord.”

 

Legolas beamed. (The Fangirls squeed in delight. The Authoress growled.)

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

“But Koss, I wanted him to be a stripper in Mordor Rouge!” Sauron whined childishly, belying His true EVIL Dark Lord-ness. The Goblin holding the reins of His horse carefully edged away from Him.

 

“That’s all very well and good, my Lord, but there are benefits. The rest of the heroes will be seriously demoralised at the mutiny of their friend. Especially the Heir of Isildur.”

 

“Sodding mortal,” Sauron muttered but motioned that she continue. If the idea screwed up the sodding wielder of Anduril, then it couldn’t be a bad one…

 

Koss hid her grin, deciding it would be more professional to celebrate her success out of sight and earshot of her employer. “It could also be a new method of torture for the Sues. We could have them chained up and he could walk by just out of their reach. Preferably shirtless, or something.”

 

After a while of dallying and feeble attempts at proving He wasn’t interested in the idea (when the opposite was true), Sauron finally nodded.

 

“The Elf Legolas of Mirkwood… is now under My service. See to his lodgings, Koss. I’m going to fry some Goblins in Mount Doom. That always cheers me up…”

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

While this was happening; said Mirkwood Elf was seated in the office of the Keeper of Sauron’s Sanity. He was contemplating what he would do to that ‘prissy nancy Figwit’ once he was employed by the Dark Side (for want of a better phrase).

 

Suddenly, the door burst open, and a few people came through. But the term ‘people’ was quite inaccurate. More suitable words would be along the lines of ‘Manly Men’ and ‘Pretty Boys’, for that was what they were.

 

There was no point in spending time and effort (and puke) in describing each and every one of them. Suffice it to say that there was one Goth, two Elves, one punk rocker and… a cowboy. Shuddertwitch.

 

They looked at Legolas’ quizzically, and he stared right back. Who were these peoples that were allowed to roam Koss’ office so? Why on Arda was one wearing scary face paint? What manner of weaponry was it that they carried? And… _why_ was one looking at him like that?

 

Legolas was the first to break the silence. “Who are you?”

 

(The fangirls remained silent, despite the ‘charming set of Legolas’ jaw’. That was because the Authoress had laid it on them with a sledgehammer. The chapter shall go on without any more interruptions. Praise Illuvatar.)

 

“My name is Eragon HarryPotter Dragon Slayer,” said the pink-haired Elf. “And theseth are my compainions; Blackwolf the Beastmaster (the other Elf); Deathdeathdeath Soo E. Cide (the Goth); Artemis Alex ObiwanKenobi FowlRider Pitt (the punk rocker); and MacDonald McEggins McCheekin McSuperSize Maccers MickeyD’s (the cowboy). Who areth thou?”

 

“I am Legolas Thranduillion of Mirkwood,” the newly Dark Side-d Elf introduced himself. The ultimate mistake, as it always was. You’d really think he’d learn.

 

“OMGQ!1 Leggy! So HAWT!” The cowboy exclaimed, and made a grab for the aforementioned – or, actually, afore-screamed – Elf, knocking over his Goth companion, Deathdeathdeath Soo E. Cide (who immediately started muttering to himself about how the world hated him and how he really needed a knife right now). ( **1** )

 

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!! KOSSSSSSSSSS!”

 

OoOoOoOoOo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) No offence to the Goths of the world. This is a parody, and I mean of everything.


	8. 07 - Of Moving and Ominousness.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evil changes its HQ, and a new threat arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own LoTR.
> 
> Warning: Slight slash, MarySues and GaryStus, as well as the usual insanity that comes with the package. Thank you for choosing Alienated Airways for your flight to Great Fanfiction. This was a message from Shameless Plugs & Overblown Egos Incorporated.

 

Koss arrived in time to see Legolas trying to hide under her office table, while a pink-haired Elf and a punk rocker tried to restrain a cowboy from jumping on him. A Goth sat cross legged on the floor, trying to line his eyes with kohl without a mirror.

 

She cleared her throat expectantly, her hand on Grond Jr. Just in case.

 

All activities stopped at that sound. Six males turned to look at her. Legolas was the only one who didn’t drool. Koss made a disgusted face, and hoped that the spit didn’t stain. Then again, perhaps the more important question was whether blood stained – and she knew the answer very well.

 

It didn’t.

 

“Who are you to walk freely in Barad-dûr and… _antagonise_ Legolas Thranduillion?” she asked dangerously.

 

Legolas, who had already faced this terrifying tone of Koss, gulped nervously, as thoughts of Sues and castration swam to mind. He thanked all his lucky stars he wasn’t the one she was angry at.

 

“Hey, pretty baby, how ya’ doin?”

 

“Did it hurt when you fel down from Heaven? ‘Cause you must b an angel.”

 

“Do you have a map? I keep getting lost in your eyes!”

 

“I’ll give you a nickel if you tickle my pickle!”

 

Koss rolled her eyes. The cheesy lines, the horrible attempts at woo-ing her, their clothes… GaryStus. She unhooked the pair of Elvish blades from her belt, the same pair confiscated from Figwit (a GaryStu in his own right) and tossed them to Legolas, who caught them easily.

 

(“Sooper kewl Elf moves,” the cowboy muttered.)

 

Then she drew Grond Jr.

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie had never been to Middle Earth before in her life. Before, the Valar had just kept her safely in Valinor with her Silmaril and a palantir so that she could view what was happening. And she saw all; she saw Frodo Baggins and his companions’ useless quest to destroy the Ring of Power, she saw the rise of Dark Lord Sauron, greatest servant of the Dark Ainur Morgoth (formerly Melkor), ‘The Abhorred’, King of Men, Lord Of The Rings, Gorthaur, the Deceiver, the Necromancer, the Nameless Enemy, Ruler over all of Middle Earth, Wielder of the One Ring, Bigshot I-Told-You-So Boss of Arda, owner of all things EVIL, Yanker of Little Girls’ Ponytails and Elves’ Braids, Wedgie Scourge, The Great Lidless Eye Wreathed in Flame, All Time EVIL,  Puppy-Kicker, The Smite-r of All Who Oppose Him, Maker of the Twenty Rings of Power, Hater of the Númenóreans, Master of Melvins, The Re-re-re-incarnated, Wielder of the Wet Willy, Two-millennia Winner of _Dark Lord Weekly’s_ All-Time Hated EVIL Megalomaniac, etcetera, etcetera.

 

Seeing the MarySues, though, she decided that something was in order. And so, without telling the rest of the Valar (because they were really just a bunch of stuffy old gods who never let her have any fun or stay up late) she grabbed her humongous sword named Rikumiku Shitzu, which was a magical sword with Japanese-y runes along the blade, and a hilt embedded with silver, gems and silver gems; a quiver full of magical Huntress arrows that only she could use, along with the bow which was a gift from Illuvatar himself, made from the bones of the now extinct sea mermaids that lived near Valinor; several daggers that were slipped into her hair, dragon-scale boots, and in the bosom of her revealing, yet perfectly modest gown; her magical wand, which was nothing out of ‘Harry Potter’ thankyouverymuch, as it was 15 inches long and had a silver star at the end, trailing attractive pink ribbons; Four lost Rings of Power, including Gandalf’s Narya ; her trusty palantir and the _fourth_ Silmaril. Oh, and she was psychic, did I mention?

 

“Xena, my trusty steed, cometh forth and we shalleth journey to Middle Earth!” she cried, summoning her ride. An urplish glittery dragon burst out of the cotton candy clouds of her home in Valinor, roaring magnificently. Xena Cutesywutesy Puffy Warrior Dragon was its name, and the fact that it was actually a male dragon annoyed it to no end. Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie jumped onto the dragon’s back in a single bound. She rode without a saddle of course, because although she rode side-saddle like any proper female half-Maia half-Elf would, the skin of her backside would not be rubbed raw riding a dragon even if tree bark was stripped away when he brushed against them. And there was no _way_ she could fall, as she was a skilled dragon tamer.

 

“To Minas Tirith, Xena! We musteth meet my new husbandeth! Eth!”

 

The dragon, wishing (and not for the first time) that he could eat the prissy little miss on his back, rolled his gold eyes and spread his wings.

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

They made an impressive sight, the Legions of Mordor. They were on the move. This explained why a whole platoon of Orcs was given the task of carrying the Sues, each one clapped in irons (or, actually, mithrils) and all contained in several large cages made of the bones of previous Sues. Morbid, yes, but it was a fitting use for the skeletons.

 

At the head of this procession, majestic and terrible, two Mûmakil lumbered on. A makeshift throne hung between the two, and only the skill (and fear of failure) of the two Harad that sat atop the great Oliphaunts kept this throne in balance. And on this throne, looking very smug and very EVIL, sat Dark Lord Sauron, greatest servant of the Dark Ainur Morgoth (formerly Melkor), ‘The Abhorred’, King of Men, Lord Of The Rings, Gorthaur, the Deceiver, the Necromancer, the Nameless Enemy, Ruler over all of Middle Earth, Wielder of the One Ring, Bigshot I-Told-You-So Boss of Arda, owner of all things EVIL, Yanker of Little Girls’ Ponytails and Elves’ Braids, Wedgie Scourge, The Great Lidless Eye Wreathed in Flame, All Time EVIL,  Puppy-Kicker, The Smite-r of All Who Oppose Him, Maker of the Twenty Rings of Power, Hater of the Númenóreans, Master of Melvins, The Re-re-re-incarnated, Wielder of the Wet Willy, Two-millennia Winner of _Dark Lord Weekly’s_ All-Time Hated EVIL Megalomaniac, etcetera, etcetera.

 

The Nazgûl circled overhead. The Witch King had commandeered Jasper Darlington Higgins IV’s Fell Beast (Higgins rode with No. 7) while Frodo – smallest, youngest and most inexperienced – got a lesson from Yomama about the duties of a Nazgûl, about how they were expected to be menacing at all times, and intimidating, and all those other words with three or more syllables. Except equestrian and vegetarianism, of course. Because everyone knew that horses were smelly and vegetarians were communists. ( **1** )

 

Koss rode on a perfectly ordinary horse. Although your ordinary farm horse probably wouldn’t purposely crush you under its hooves or give out a neigh that – being more of a scream – chilled your bones. It was a horse nonetheless, and Koss had ‘acquired’ it from the previous Mouth of Sauron. Emphasis on the ‘previous’. But, the only thing Koss could think about the decapitated Messenger was that it was a good thing EVIL overlords like Sauron did not bother offering His minions pointless things (to Him) like a dental plan.

 

She made sure Legolas was in sight at all times, lest he get ideas like freeing the heroes from their very own Sue Cage™ (there had been _a lot_ of skeletons to dispose of). And if even one Sue saw Legolas, they would all scream and try to… ‘glomp’ him, whatever a ‘glomp’ was. To cut things short, all Udûn would break loose, and she wouldn’t get to try out her new method of torture…

 

Besides, once Aragorn son of A Sod had realised the Elf had supposedly joined Sauron – well, his expression had been priceless.

 

Minas Tirith was a sight to behold. Sauron had finally got things done His way (an angry Dark Lord and two of your partners burnt to a crisp did that to you) and it was clear that this was no longer the “White City” of Gondor. It was morbid. It was majestic, in an EVIL way. It was sinister and menacing.

 

‘ _It’s perfect_ ,’ thought Sauron.

 

It simply defied all conventional adjectives, at any rate. Such a place of EVIL could not be described in words – so most of that last paragraph didn’t do it any justice. But an attempt to tell – er, write you will be made.

 

First of all: it was the home of Sauron. Without question. Designs echoed that of Barad-dûr, except on a more widespread scale. It did not have gargoyles or arches or any of that human nonsense usually associated with ‘witches’ and ‘darkness’ – it didn’t need to. It screamed EVIL. Almost literally. Fountains that had dotted the city had not been replaced, but even the water flowed in its own EVIL way. True, some of the fountains had lava instead of water, but that wasn’t important.

 

The most noticeable difference was that entire lowest level had been… changed. But to say ‘changed’ seems too much an understatement. It had been transformed entirely. It looked like Dark!Ents had gone to work, or like it was the result of that Jumanji game from that movie in modern Earth. Trees sprouted between remnants of buildings, painful and poisonous looking plants wound around their trunks, and invisible creatures lurked in the shadows. Aragorn’s ranger instincts twitched, but unfortunately for him and for you, the reason for this altered level shall remain indefinite until I see fit.

 

**That’s not fair.**

 

Tough.

 

The Gondorians watched in fear from behind their doors and windows. A few brave ones came forward to stare at their new ruler upon his litter carried by five Trolls. (Of course, these few brave ones were mostly little children whose parents hadn’t noticed had snuck out of the house.)

 

As a side note, the planned number had been four, but Trolls couldn’t count. In fact, they couldn’t carry out quite a number of academic related tasks, but they remained part of the SoS since they were quite good when you told them to carry things or bash something up. But I digress. As usual.

 

When they reached the topmost level, a red carpet was laid out for the Dark Lord Sauron. (Do not fret. It was cloth dyed red with the blood of countless Sue sacrifice.) And He walked into His new City, and He sat on the throne, and He was happy.

 

For now.

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

Legolas squirmed uncomfortably.

 

“Is this really necessary, Koss?” he asked, and rubbed his bare arms. Koss had brought him down to the dungeons, and now the both of them were standing outside the Sue Section™ (where Koss had situated the MarySues – obviously), Koss with her hands on her hips and Legolas without his tunic.

 

Koss sighed and, in a most patient voice, reassured him for what seemed like the fiftieth time that day, “It's a form of torture, princeling. You will walk in front of the Sues without your tunic. They will want to… well, we all know what they want.” She paused for Legolas to shudder. “And, because the bars are mithril and are therefore impossible to break, even for a Sue, their efforts will be wasted.”

 

Legolas still didn’t look like he liked the idea. “I don’t have a choice in the matter, do I?”

 

Koss smiled cheerfully. “If you disagree I will toss you into their cell. Without your leggings, too.”

 

Legolas squared his shoulders. And opened the door.

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

By the time they had finished in the Sue Section™, Koss wicked laughter had her stomach hurting, and even Legolas sported an evil grin. A lone eyeball rolled behind them (the iris a yellowish-orange), due to the overexertion of one of the Sues. Apparently if you tried to squeeze your head between mithril bars, it really _did_ pop.

 

An Orc came forward and bowed. “Koss, the EVIL one wishes you honour Him with your presence.”

 

Sauron’s actual words probably would have been: “Get Koss here. NOW.”

 

Koss rolled her eyes. “Did the Dark Lord specify as to why he requires my being there?”

 

The Orc had backbone; he didn’t shift from foot to foot as members of the SoS normally did when faced with the glare of Koss. “O’ Most Glorious Person of High Repute, He did not furnish me with such information. He also requests Prince Legolas Thranduillion accompany you.”

 

“Very well,” Koss said. Just as the Orc turned away, though, she called him back, having been struck by inspiration. As he called a few others to do her bidding, she grinned evilly and stomped on the ‘fiery’ eye with relish. Then she tossed Legolas his tunic and told him to look presentable.

 

It was mere moments later when both of them entered Sauron’s new quarters, which wasn’t difficult seeing as the Dark Lord had a large expanse of living space. In fact, most of the citadel and (what had been called) the White Tower was his living space, save the dungeon and Koss’ office. This was odd, because His quarters included an expansive bathhouse, and everyone knew that the Dark Lord didn’t wash.

 

Everyone.

 

The Urûk that had escorted them handed the bowl he’d been instructed to carry to Sauron. Said Maia gave the Dark Lord’s equivalent of a squeal of delight at discovering what the bowl contained.

 

“Ooh! Eyes!” He started picking them out and popping them into His mouth like a normal person would a bunch of grapes. A bunch of grapes that had retinas, irises, nerves and whatnot, with the primary function of enabling the sense of sight – meh, same difference. Legolas had to suppress his shudder.

 

“Chocolate, mmm…” You hardly ever got chocolate in Mordor; the Sues always had the wrong kind. That was a perk of living in a posh place like Gondor. And there were… blueberry flavoured ones, and strawberry flavoured ones, and dragon fruit flavoured ones (sort of a dark purply colour with tiny black spots) and black forest flavoured ones, and Turkish Delight flavoured ones, and – _ooh…!_

 

Sauron held up one that changed colours (His favourite!), and popped it into His mouth, savouring the taste of the vitreous and aqueous humours as His pointy teeth pierced the eye, the texture of the little nerve-y things in the retina, and His favourite, the –

 

**Wait, do we even _want_ to know?**

True. I’ll spare you the details, then.

 

**Phew.**

 

“My thanks, Koss. You always know what to bring to me.” It was not long before Sauron had finished His bowl of treats and turned to regard His Keeper of Sanity and the ex-representative-of-the-race-of-the-Elves-of-the-Fellowship-of-the-Ring. He steepled His fingers and appeared to study them for awhile.

 

Koss grew impatient. Just because Sauron was now ruler of the world did not mean He could waste her time – time better spent devising ways of torturing and catching Sues (as well as the heroes they sought to besot).

 

Legolas tried to look as evil as he could, ignoring his inner voice (which sounded a lot like Thranduil), which was currently banging against the walls of his cranium, screaming, “You traitorous Elf! No self-respecting son of Mirkwood would turn to the Enemy and give up his friends and family!” and so on and so forth.

 

“I wish to go on a Sod Hunt.”

 

Ignoring Legolas’ confused “ _What’s a ‘Sod Hunt’?_ ”, Koss frowned and said, “My Lord, we just had a Sod Hunt _last_ month!”

 

Using a whiny tone Legolas would never have associated with an unspeakably EVIL Dark Lord, Sauron… well, He whined. “But _Koss_ , I want one! And besides, we won’t have to dress up an Orc as the sodding-heir-of-Isildur! We’ve got the _real_ thing!”

 

Koss opened her mouth to argue, but paused thoughtfully. “You are right about that,” she conceded.

 

Sauron – Dark Lord Sauron, greatest servant of the Dark Ainur Morgoth (formerly Melkor), ‘The Abhorred’, King of Men, Lord Of The Rings, Gorthaur, the Deceiver, the Necromancer, the Nameless Enemy, Ruler over all of Middle Earth, Wielder of the One Ring, Bigshot I-Told-You-So Boss of Arda, owner of all things EVIL, Yanker of Little Girls’ Ponytails and Elves’ Braids, Wedgie Scourge, The Great Lidless Eye Wreathed in Flame, All Time EVIL,  Puppy-Kicker, The Smite-r of All Who Oppose Him, Maker of the Twenty Rings of Power, Hater of the Númenóreans, Master of Melvins, The Re-re-re-incarnated, Wielder of the Wet Willy, Two-millennia Winner of _Dark Lord Weekly’s_ All-Time Hated EVIL Megalomaniac, etcetera, etcetera – clapped his hands gleefully and giggled. Or, sniggered EVIL-ly, which was preferred.

 

Especially if you wanted to remain intact and un-charred.

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

Needless to say, Aragorn son of Arathorn, Elfstone, Strider, Thorongil, Estel, Elessar of the line of Valandil, Longshanks, the Dunadan, wielder of the sword of Elendil, Gornie-kins, Owner of The Ring of Barahir, named Wingfoot, chieftain of the Dúnedain of Arnor, The would-be King of the Reunited Kingdoms if Karma Didn't Suck, Bearer of the Star of the North,  The One Of Too Many Names, Envinyatar (the Renewer), He-who-beats-Death-to-a-pulp, Just Add Water, sodding-heir-of-Isil- Hey! Who messed with the script?

 

If one listens closely, one may be able to detect giggling. Or, actually, a better term would be EVIL sniggering. At any rate, the Authoress rolls her eyes and tries to get back with the story, hoping there are no more… interruptions.

 

Naturally, Aragorn was quite bewildered – but relieved – when he’d been snatched away from his torture – he had been tied by his ankles from the ceiling while five Sues (all of whom were chained to the _floor_ ) tried to grab their Gornie-kins. He’d then been blindfolded, and walked to this… place. He assumed it was the lowest level of Minas Tirith, for there were no forests within reasonable walking distance of said city. Take that, Suethors! (The readers watch as the Authoress bashes Suethors with canon.)

 

And, when Strider (or Aragorn son of Arathorn, Elfstone, Strider, Thorongil, Estel, Elessar of the line of Valandil, Longshanks, the Dunadan, wielder of the sword of Elendil, sodding-heir-of-Isildur, Gornie-kins, His Royal Soddingness, Owner of The Ring of Barahir, named Wingfoot, chieftain of the Dúnedain of Arnor, The would-be King of the Reunited Kingdoms if Karma Didn't Suck, Bearer of the Star of the North,  The One Of Too Many Names, Envinyatar [the Renewer], He-who-beats-Death-to-a-pulp, Just Add Water, etc. etc.) knelt behind a tree to get his bearings, he could hear a fell voice on the air. No, no, that sounded too much like Legolas’ line.

 

‘ _Legolas_ ,’ he thought bitterly. ‘ _Newly under Sauron’s service_.’ Boy, when you thought you really knew someone…

 

Anyway, he heard a voice that was both terrible and scary – although Thorongil was not _scared_ , do not worry – carry through the trees and shrubberies and other manner of flora in the lowest level of the City. And this terrible and scary voice said this:

 

“Heeeere, sodsodsodsod… Suuuuuu-eeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!” ( **2** )

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

At the fringes of the lowest level, now (lovingly) dubbed the Sod Stalking Range™, stood Koss, the Nine and Three Quarters Nazgûl, and Legolas. There were there to make sure the sod – that’s Aragorn son of Arathorn, Elfstone, Strider, Thorongil, Estel, Elessar of the line of Valandil, Longshanks, the Dunadan, wielder of the sword of Elendil, sodding-heir-of-Isildur, Gornie-kins, His Royal Soddingness, Owner of The Ring of Barahir, named Wingfoot, chieftain of the Dúnedain of Arnor, The would-be King of the Reunited Kingdoms if Karma Didn't Suck, Bearer of the Star of the North,  The One Of Too Many Names, Envinyatar (the Renewer), He-who-beats-Death-to-a-pulp, Just Add Water, etc, etc, in case you hadn’t realised – did not escape from their EVIL employer. You all should know who _that_ refers to. If not… well, prepare yourself for a brief burst of fire that shall shoot out of your screen any second now. Be smited, ignorant fool!

 

They were just about to separate and prowl around the fringes of the level when an extremely out of breath and scared-looking Orc burst into the clearing. It seemed that he had drawn the short straw (or sword – same thing) when the SoS had gotten the news. He had run, not because he wanted to deliver the news, but so that he could kill his workmates faster. Still, the Orc’s story – and what he would do to his ‘workmates’ – was unimportant. What was important was the information he carried.

 

“Magnificent Keeper – of Sauron’s – Sanity,” he panted. “I – was told – to tell you – as soon as – possible…”

 

Koss waited patiently while the Orc caught his breath. This patience was evident in the way she was drumming a tattoo on the hilt of Grond Jr. Even the Nazgûl backed away from her slightly. She paid them no heed.

 

The Orc had straightened. “It is the designer, O’ Malicious Koss. Srakh. He wishes to completely redo Rivendell in yellow and silver stripes. The Dark Lord wanted you to know as soon –”

 

As soon as what, they never found out, because Koss swore in a very unladylike way – and therefore in a very Koss-like way – and hurried off to catch up with that stupid Orc who dared mess with the walls of her new retreat. Killing him would be very satisfying, of this she had no doubt.

 

Yomama nudged Pavlov. “Shire… Baggins,” he suggested, in a mutter, pointing to Legolas, who wasn’t looking in their direction.

 

Pavlov raised an eyebrow – metaphorically, of course, because after you’ve been dead for many centuries, there wasn’t much chance of still having eyebrows, even if Sauron was your lord.

 

Word went around the Nazgûl, and Legolas started when he looked up and saw them all… looking at him menacingly. It occurred to him that nothing stood between them and him. No Koss to protect him. And they were a lot closer than they had been just moments before…

 

“Um, I’ll go… escort Koss!” he said quickly, and ran off, nothing like the stately Elf prince he had been taught to be. His tutor would be turning in his grave. If, in fact, his tutor (who was a Mirkwood Elf) had died. Which is very unlikely. Because he is an Elf. Right.

 

The Witch King glared at the Legolas-shaped cloud that was left, so fast the Elf had been.

 

Yomama, his second-in-command, said sadly, “Shire… Baggins.”

 

“Yeah. He would have tasted nice with toast.”

 

“Or those rotisserie rats that Hobbit came up with.”

 

Wordlessly, and lamenting the loss of s promising meal, they split up to make sure the Sod didn’t escape. Or there’d be Udûn to pay. Or, actually, Sauron. Same diff.

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

Koss felt very happy when she left the remains of Dol Guldur. Of course, that was after she had disposed of Srakh’s now mangled body. The Goblins and other manner of creatures that (had) worked under the former designer of ‘Queer Orc for the Straight Orc’ didn’t need to be told to know what would happen to them if they even _thought_ of changing the colour scheme.

 

She had initially been surprised that Legolas had followed her, but then, she hadn’t actually noticed him arriving. She had been too busy beating sense into Srakh’s head. With Grond Jr.

 

How fortuitous that she’d caught up with him before he’d actually reached Rivendell.

 

Anyway, since her business was concluded, the both of them headed back to their superior’s headquarters. His _new_ headquarters, at any rate. It took them a few weeks to reach Minas Tirith, and that was pushing their horses to the limit. Well, that and the fact that no one dared challenge them – apparently Koss’ reputation preceded her, although she didn’t know how people knew what she looked like. Maybe it was the unspeakable aura of EVIL that hung around her. Or it could have been the way she killed the Sue that dared get in her way at the Wold, in Rohan.

 

But when they arrived at the plateau that was the Fields of Pelennor, both stopped. Or, rather, Koss stopped in horror, and Legolas had to rein his horse sharply so as to not bowl into her and suffer slow death.

 

Minas Tirith had… changed.

 

Almost as suddenly as she’d stopped, Koss had her horse at full gallop, and left Legolas blinking in the dust. He shook his immaculate hair and followed, wondering what in Illuvatar’s name had happened.

 

At the gate, Koss’ misgivings grew. Upon seeing her, they grabbed her and held her hands behind her back. She scowled, wishing she had not strapped Grond Jr. onto her saddle quite so securely. To be fair, it wasn’t comfortable riding a Mordor-bred horse at full gallop while a mace bounced against your thigh.

 

Legolas started to draw his knives when another guard yanked the Elf off his horse and held a sword at his throat. He (Leggy) gave Koss a worried and seemingly terrified look. She however, snarled at her captor.

 

“I am Koss! What is the meaning of this? Where is Lord Sauron? I will personally make sure you are _dissected_ as soon as I tell Him –”

 

Unwisely, the guard cut her off. “The Dark Lord has ordered this.”

 

She was about to retort and attempt to subdue – and here subdue was an extremely polite word – her captor when she realised the glazed look in his eyes. Looking around, she saw that they _all_ had it. (The glazed look. Just to clarify.)

 

This couldn’t be good.

 

“We will go quietly,” she said, ignoring Legolas’ look of confusion.

 

They were brought up on foot. Koss made a disgusted sound as they passed through the first level. Previously, the Sod Stalking Range™ had been an ominous and dark forest, filled with traps and other things that the military of real Earth would salivate over. Now it was filled with sunlight, fairies giggling on toadstools, and squirrels gambolling in the trees. Legolas thought he might have seen a pink, glittery unicorn, but then he thought confusedly, ‘ _What in the Valar’s name is a unicorn?_ ’ ( **3** )

 

As for the rest of the levels… There were huge neon signs, but they were lost on both Koss and Legolas because neither knew of neon – or even electricity. The signs screamed ‘Tiffany’ and ‘Gap’ and other such nonsensical names.

 

“I thought the Gap was in Rohan?” Legolas murmured to Koss.

 

She could only shrug. Already things were adding up in her brain, and she only needed one more thing to come to the obvious conclusion. One she hoped wasn’t true.

 

They were finally brought to the Hall, and she relaxed when they saw Sauron on his throne. “My Lord, I –”

 

She broke off, having noticed the way He seemed to stare at a point slightly above her shoulder when she’d called to Him. She noticed His eyes – glazed, like all the guards. She noticed the cape He was wearing, and remembered His speech all those years ago how capes were not Dark-Lord-ey when Nazgûl No.6 tried to get Him to wear one. She noticed the horrible dreamy-looking smile on His lips.

 

Sauron never smiled. Never. Ever.

 

But most of all, Koss noticed the figure beside Him, whose hand rested on the Dark Lord’s shoulder, a sign of familiarity Sauron never gave anyone. With dread, she looked up… into Her eyes. Her horrible, pink, anime-style eyes.

 

A giggle. “Helloeth. I ameth Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie.” She paused for effect. “ _Wife_ of Sauron.”

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) From Boston Legal. Which I do not own either.  
> (2) Like how they call pigs in them farms. ‘Suuuuu-eeey!’  
> (3) Get it in your head, Suethors. There are no unicorns, pixies, mermaids, etc in Middle Earth. Deal with it.


	9. 08 - Minas Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet the Valar!Sue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Nothing to warn you about in this chapter. Except the Valar!Sue. But I expect you all know that already.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own J.R.R. Tolkien. It all belongs to LoTR. …Wait.

_A giggle. “Helloeth. I ameth Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie.” She paused for effect. “Wife of Sauron.”_

She waited for another moment, in which Sauron let out an extremely un-Sauron-like sigh of lovey-dovey-ness. Then she added, “But thee can calleth me Chloe.”

 

Legolas Thranduillion, Prince of Mirkwood, Elf-boy, Winner-of-drinking-contests-with-dwarves, Koss' Pet, Emissary of the Silvan Elves of Mirkwood, Killer-of-Mûmakil, Torturer of Sues (ToS), Delight of the Fangirls, Traitor Extraordinaire, and so on and so forth, ( **1** ) was still trying to figure how ‘Chloe’ was a acronym of ‘Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie’ – or whatever her name was – when said Sue spotted him. Because she was a Valar!Sue, however, she had (relatively) more self control than the others and therefore did not scream “Legyy!1!” and glomp the blonde Elf.

 

Though, Koss could’ve sworn she’d heard Ravara – Chloe – squeal under her breath. If that was even possible.

 

The Sue signalled to the guards, who widened their glazed eyes to take in even more of her glorious and unchallengeable beauty. “Taketh Legg – _the Elf_ – to the others.” And, for good measure, she said, “Verily forsooth.”

 

Both guards had listened raptly to her orders, much like a connoisseur on modern Earth would a work of Bach or Beethoven. Then they saluted clumsily before dragging the protesting prince of Mirkwood to wherever the ‘others’ were.

 

Koss did not watch as her protégé – of sorts – was hauled away. She was waiting until the guards let their guard down (pardon the horrible pun) so she could take them down. But it seemed that this Sue, powerful enough to bewitch Sauron (and everyone else), did not forget that she didn’t want Koss to escape.

 

Sauron’s Keeper of Sanity was momentarily blinded when Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie parted ruby-red cherub lips shaped like petals (just picture a ten cubic centimetre syringe of collagen injected into said body part) to reveal a shiny row of perfect white teeth. You could almost hear the _ting_ they had in all those toothpaste advertisements – which don’t in Middle-Earth, so I am digressing again.

 

“What is youreth nametheth?”

 

Years of on-the-job experience made Koss pretty fluent in Bad!Shakespearean. The more pressing issue was figuring out what lie she was going to tell. She knew it wouldn’t be wise to inform _Chloe_ that she worked as a killer of Sues; she’d be whisked off to death by furry pink monkeys, or something similar. Instead, she curtsied the best she could and bowed her head slightly, hoping that her acting skills could fool this Sue.

 

“My name is… Lana.” She was loathe to say it, but Koss knew it had to be done. She would gain the trust of this Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie, and then she would kill her in the messiest way possible. “I am but a humble servant for Lord Sauron, milady. I have only ever been in His service.”

 

The Sue clapped her hands delightedly. “Ooh-eth! A servant girl! Thee-eth shall being mine handmaiden. Let her goeth, prithee, good sir guards!”

 

Koss was starting to get a headache, what with the horrible Shakespearean and the fact that she could understand it. The guards did, however, let her go, and then happily stared at Ravarastwinke – Chloe – until she waved an arm imperiously for them to leave.

The Sue wrapped her arms around Sauron’s neck, and planted a kiss on His cheek. Or what she assumed was His cheek, anyway. Koss’ paled when she saw the goofy grin the Dark Lord sported, and the blank way He seemed to stare at Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie. Her horror mounted when she distinctly heard them exchange declarations of love, and call each other ‘Honey-bunnies’ and ‘sugar-bear’ and other odd combinations of animals and saccharine confectionary, all of which left Koss nauseated.

 

It didn’t make her feel any better when Chloe turned to her and clapped her hands in delight. “Timeth to get thee all fitted upeth!”

 

In fact, it made Koss feel a whole lot worse.

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

It seemed that the new Empress of the World had decreed the heroes her property and had seen fit to release her Sue sisters. Koss saw many milling around aimlessly around the City – many, but not all. Most likely the rest of the previously captured Sues were out roaming Middle-Earth, to ensnare a pretty Elf/Man of their own. Maybe more than one each.

 

As for the beauties – sorry, monstrosities – that stayed? They were hunting for the ‘biotch’ with the ‘big heavy weapon thingy’ who had put them in prison in the first place. A few had stopped Koss a few times to ask for directions. Koss was thankful to Chloe; the change of clothes made her unrecognisable.

 

Actually, scratch that. Why? Well, how would _you_ like being forced into wearing a horrible monster of a dress that was all lace, and silk, and frills, and lace, and sashes, and some other word for lace, and faux fur? The hem was ripped ‘artistically’, the longest gash of fabric ending just above her knee.

 

Prior to the arrival of the uber Sue, Koss’ hair had been styled in a braid that reached her knees. It now resembled that of Princess Leia when she was first glimpsed in Star Wars 4: ‘A New Hope’ – i.e. the two twisted buns on each side of her head. Of course, Koss didn’t use this particular analogy, because Star Wars didn’t exist in Middle Earth. No, it existed a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…

 

The Authoress gained a faraway look in her eye as she subconsciously hummed the Star Wars theme song – which, when you got down to it, was quite similar to the theme song of one GaryStu brother of Legolas. But that’s sidetracking, and we really must get on with the story.

 

Koss winced each time she saw a change made by the Valar!Sue, which was quite often. She had made all the Orcs take baths (the blasphemy!) and, even more shockingly, the Orcs did so without fuss. Hell, all the Servants of Sauron looked _cleaner_ and more presentable, if that was even possible. Disturbingly, Koss noticed a large majority of the SoS had taken to wearing colourful leggings with flared bottoms and large pendants featuring the odd symbol of a ‘Y’ within a circle. They even sat around in circles beating drums and chanting.

 

For the first time in years (referring to all that time in Mordor, of course), Koss was exposed to the full beauty of the sun. Or at least how Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie saw the beauty of the sun. The sky was a clear sky blue (the Authoress rolls her eyes) and the golden eye that was the sun winked at the inhabitants of Middle Earth like a huge yellow gem in the middle of a cerulean ocean, albeit a sea devoid of the white crests of waves. Sickening metaphors aside, the absence of clouds was not a deterrent to the ‘happy frolicking’ of the peoples of the world despite the temperature that came with it. Had Koss come from modern Earth, she would’ve made some snide comment about the ozone layer and global warming.

 

At any rate, she just squinted up at the huge ball of flame in the sky, and wondered if the Orcs could survive the direct sunlight. And what about Sauron? Had the Dark Lord seen what had happened to his own kingdom?

 

_Obviously not_ , she thought sourly. _Since he only has eyes for ‘Chloe’._

 

She was brought back to earth – or Middle Earth, if you want to get all snippy about it – when the sickly syrupy voice of Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie broke into her thoughts.

 

“Annouceth my presence. Etheth.”

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

Obviously, you’re wondering where Legolas had been sent to. Okay, so the ‘you’ in question was more likely to be Sues and Leggy!fanciers, but it all amounted to the same thing in the end. The traitorous Elf had been dragged up twelve flights of stairs (wait, _how_ many?) to a large room near the Lady’s quarters, as he was informed. Actually, to say he was dragged was too erroneous. He was carried by six Gondorian soldiers on a litter heaped with linen sheets and pillows, while a seventh guard jogged next to them bearing a tray of refreshments.

 

The previously-mentioned large room was dimly lit. The windows were covered in translucent cloth that seemed to tint the place in different colours. Heavy rugs were thrown haphazardly across the floor and tapestries of no apparent taste adorned the walls. Silk pillows not unlike the ones he had sat on were strewn here and there – some were currently occupied by sprawling bodies. Bodies of people, he realised with a groan, he recognised.

 

But, after a few moments in which the Mirkwood prince stood frozen in his place – expecting his erstwhile friends to jump, strangle and maim him, not necessarily in that order – it was evident that they were in no shape to even recognize him. Each and every one of them had a glazed look in their eyes, much like the guards. With a start he realised they were all clad in an odd assortment of clothing –

 

“Announcing her royal Valar-ness, Empress of Middle Earth, Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie,” came a bored voice from behind him. He whirled around.

 

And started drooling.

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

Koss had had her misgivings as soon as she’d caught sight of the huge doors. It had nothing to do with the fact that there had been no such architecture in the whole of the White City. It had nothing to do with the strings of penny-sized mirror fragments that hung from the ceiling like some sort of reflective curtain. It had nothing to do with the giant sign that hung above the door, where “heart – HAREM – heart” was written in pink lipstick. Of course not.

 

That being said, nothing – _absolutely_ nothing – could have prepared her for the sight that greeted them as soon as the doors soundlessly swung open. All the heroes (except Gandalf the Grey, Gimli son of Glóin, and Éowyn, Shieldmaiden of Rohan) were assembled in the room. Every single one of them seemed to be drooling and staring at something behind her. Ah. That would be Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie, then.

 

This wasn’t the worst part. Only Legolas looked presentable in his sensible travel clothes. But the others – they were clad in what could only be described as the normal attire of belly dancers in Modern Earth. The material of their… costumes… was see-through and sparkly, offering little modesty. The only cover was the belt of beads that hung low on their hips. Beads that were interspersed with tiny bells which, with every little movement, clattered and tinkled as they slid against each other.

 

The glazed look was quite obvious in their eyes. Even, she realised with alarm, Legolas was affected. All were gaping at Chloe. Obviously this was a powerful Sue, to ensnare Sauron _and_ the main heroes, as well as the rest of the White City. Maybe even the rest of Middle Earth. Koss had to suppress a shudder at that thought.

 

She tuned in to attend to the speech Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie was now delivering to the harem members. “Aseth memberes of my haremeth – of thy own free willeth, of course – thee areth expectheth to serveth me witheth the utmost commitment and enthusiasmeth. And theeth shalleth start serving meeth… _now._ ”

 

Koss was out of the door before the Sue had finished the word ‘serveth’.

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

Things did not get better with the absence of the Sue. People, now momentarily without the attention of Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie – and without the orders – milled about pointlessly, staring into space. None of them responded to anything she did, and she had already kicked two in the shins, broken someone’s nose, shouted, and patiently tried to get a reaction by use of Logic. It was all to no effect, visible or otherwise. So when she went to Sauron… she didn’t get her hopes up too high.

 

The Dark Lord sat on his throne, dazedly smiling up at the urple banners that hung from the ceiling. They quite matched the rest of the urple furniture. With trepidation, Koss approached the Anti-Valar ( **2** ) perched precariously on his seat.

 

“My Lord?”

 

Instantly Sauron’s head snapped up and maybe, maybe for a split second there was a glimmer of recognition. But his eyes clouded over with disappointment soon after. “You aren’t my lovey-kins…” he murmured disconsolately. He then paused for all of five seconds before launching himself into her arms and bawling like a newborn.

 

“I miss her so much! I don’t even know where she’s gone! And she always takes so long to come back! And I can’t help but think she’s seeing someone else! I mean, it’s not as if she can’t get anyone else, she’s really beautiful and everything, but I wish she’d trust me enough to tell me or something, because I don’t mind having an open relationship, and I _did_ get her that Ring, and – ”

 

“What? What Ring?” Koss asked, alarmed. She ignored the fact that her upper arms would soon have bruises from the way Sauron was gripping them. (Did it help that his fingers were razor sharp? No. No it did not.)

 

“The Ring. You know, One Ring to rule them all, and all that jazz… that was her engagement Ring. She was kind of disappointed it wasn’t diamond, but then I told her it could control the whole of Middle Earth, and she liked that, so she said yes, and that was the happiest time of my life. No, wait, the happiest time of my life was when we actually got married. No, wait, the happiest time of my life was the _night_ of our wedding, when we retreated to our bedchambers and –”

 

Koss definitely did not need to hear this bit. She pushed Sauron upright, effectively cutting of the Dark Lord’s ramblings. Koss backed away from her employer, worried he might do something else that would further prove his absence of Sanity. With a start she realised she’d failed her primary mission.

 

“You just, eh, stay here, there’s a good Sauron. I’ll go see if I can get Chloe down here.”

 

“And don’t forget to tell her how much I miss her! And that I love her!” Sauron called, and then blissfully went back to staring at the sunshine streaming in through the windows, the fey urple light casting a disgusting glow around the armour of the half-Maia. Koss hurriedly closed the doors on the sight.

 

Maybe the Ringwraiths.

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

No. Scratch the Ringwraiths.

 

Koss had searched high and low for the previous Kings of Men (and the one Hobbit Ringbearer). She’d finally found them in the third floor corridor – the ‘Forbidden Corridor’ (the Authoress walks a fine line between fandoms) that she had previously overlooked. Exactly why it was forbidden soon dawned on her- though don’t worry, it had nothing to do with oversized Cerberus dogs or evil megalomaniacs attached to the back of someone else’s head.

 

“You all got it? Let’s take it from the top!”

 

Her mouth gaped open unattractively as she saw the Nazgûl dressed as they were. Clad in pink, lacy numbers, these particular Servants of Sauron would only strike fear in the hearts of people allergic to pink-ness and cute-ness and other such things. Currently, they were in various positions in the little hall situated off the Third Floor Corridor.

 

“Ah one, ah two, ah one, two, three – five!”

 

_We’re Wraiths! We’re Wraiths!_

_We’re all clad in lace!_

_‘Cause of Lady Chloe,_

_And her fantastic face?_

_Nine and three quarters,_

_That is our number,_

_Don’t mistake us for porters,_

_For a grudge, we remember!_

_Erstwhile Kings of Man are we,_

_Except one, Hobbit is he,_

_Serving Sauron is what we do best,_

_And the word best rhymes with zest!_

_Ringwraiths are the most excellent!_

_Shire… Baggins!_

_Ringwraiths are the best!_

_Shire… Baggins!_

_Ringwraiths are full of excrement!_

_Shire_ … Baggins?

 

“Alright, who messed up again?”

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

For the first time since, well, a long time, Koss felt… helpless. Wait, no that wasn’t right. Helplessness implied vulnerability, and she was anything but. She just lacked… help. None of the SoS could assist her in regaining stability and order, as much as you could call a reign by Sauron ‘stable’ and ‘orderly’.

 

The ‘heroes’ had turned into a bunch of ninnies (heh, not much change _there_ ) that lived and breathed Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie. Sauron had turned into a Chloe-dependant junkie, unable to survive five seconds without declarations of love towards his Sue-wife. The Nazgûl had become the musical chorus, and the rest of the SoS were like the rest of the world, unable to do anything but what Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie had set out for them.

 

“Lana1!”

 

La – I mean, _Koss_ – groaned quietly and turned to face the stairs. Half formed thoughts that wondered _how_ Chloe had finished doing what she had been doing were met with an inward flinch and then stuffed away into some deep dark corner of Koss’ mind, where they were killed instantly.

 

Oh. The full description of Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie has yet to be revealed – and shall now be without further ado, despite plaintive cries of despair. But what can one say? An Authoress lives for nothing except writing and torturing readers (and **REVIEWS**!). Erhem.

 

Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie was born of a union between a Maia and a powerful Elf in Valinor. And through this odd and thoroughly unlikely and quite hush-hush matrimony, she had gained many unique physical attributes. Her ears were delicate and pointy, a testament to her Elf heritage, as was the graceful way she walked. Her hair was as black as midnight and was striped with _totally_ natural highlights of red. It was left to hang loose so that it reached her ankles in a totally normal, no-extensions length.

 

She was petite but tall at the same time, again confirming her Elf inheritance. Her well defined muscles didn’t make her look bulky; instead, they made her look lean, because of her already slim figure. Her modest dress hinted at her bosom (nothing less than a D-cup). All this, far from making her look like a stick with two melons stuck on the front, looked so very completely natural.

 

Her eyes were said to be her most intriguing feature. They were large and round, framed with dark eyelashes and perfectly natural shaped eyebrows. They were the colour of the most perfect pink gems, though the shade would change depending on her mood. For example, they’d be a dark red when she was angry, deep mauve when she was happy, or the lightest shade of pink when she was ardent with ardour – for lack of a better word.

 

Now the owner of these perfect twin orbs of pink smiled at Koss, revealing teeth that could have been coated with diamonds, what with the shine they exuded. “Come, Lana, now that I haveth finishedeth my worketh –”

 

Koss gave a derisive snort

 

“– I haveth an announcementh to maketh to my peopooleth.”

 

So they walked to the Courtyard that overlooked the White City (Koss noticed the absence of the statue of Sauron, replaced by one of Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie holding up two fingers – the peace sign in modern Earth). Koss saw that all the inhabitants of the City had already gathered below, cheering and waving banners and such. Confetti streamed down from some unknown place.

 

“My peepooleth!”

 

A cheer from the ‘peepooleth’.

 

“I haveth listened to thy requestes and will now granteth it! And so noweth, sinceth thy demand it, I haveth changeth the name of this Cityeth, from Minas Tirith to…

 

“Minas Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie! Or, Minas Chloe for short!”

 

The cheers were deafening. Koss gaped at Chloe, who was waving benevolently at the peoples as if she’d done them a favour – then again, the peoples acted as if she had indeed done well by renaming their ancient City. Not bothering to stifle her Orcish profanity (it wasn’t as if anyone could hear, or indeed, understand her) the first thing Koss did was to grab an Orc and kill it. With her bare hands.

 

It helped with the frustration. Just barely.

 

OoOoOoOoOo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) You people were lovely with the titles. Sad to say, the titles suggestions box will have to be closed, lest half the chapter be taken up by them. And that would not do, precious, not at all.  
> (2) Like the term used for one Napoleon Bonaparte, ‘Anti-Christ’, except since Jesus and Christianity does not belong in Middle Earth, this has been modified. Thanks to Allyp.


	10. 09 - She-Whose-Name-Grows-Pink-Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sue's lived long enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: LoTR bukan kepunyaan saya, tetapi kepunyaan J.R.R. Tolkien. 
> 
> Warning: Have I not warned you about the Valar!Sue countless times before? I think this time I’ll just warn you that if you don’t review, I will find you, dunk you in Leggy-scent, and set Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie out into the world. You’ll be doomed, whatever gender you identify as. Capice? 
> 
> And, without further ado, your self-induced torture/pleasure.

About fifty assorted corpses lay heaped around Koss, including Orcs, Goblins, Men, Sues, and even a Troll. Every single one was quite bewildered by their loss of life, although that particular train of thought was cut quite short. They had achieved their demise in many creative ways, including strangulation, spinal cord twisting, and garrotting by means of Sue hair (a personal favourite). It was certainly a good application of otherwise-useless ankle length, conditioner-fortified hair.

 

This had calmed Koss down somewhat, but it did not make the sudden appearance of Chloe any more welcome. The Co-Ruler of Middle-Earth clapped her hands to her mouth and gave an almighty gasp of surprise and disgust. Koss eyed her warily and, as an afterthought, hid her bloody hands behind her back. After another second of deliberation, she wiped them on her dress. Not as if it was much of a loss.

 

“Hwhat on Eartheth happetnh hereth?” Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie cried. “My peepooleth! Alleth dead! O’, trully these is a greateth trad– trag– tradgerdy!” And, really, it was. Koss would have been _much_ more satisfied if Chloe had been the one dead on the ground.

 

Quick thinking yielded this answer: “Oh, I had them executed.”

 

“But waiii?”

 

“They insulted your hair and your wardrobe,” Koss said, smiling hopefully. “Eth,” she added, for good measure. You never knew what a well-placed ‘eth’ could get you out of.

 

“Oh. Taht’s allrighteth then.” Chloe shrugged happily and flipped her hair over her shoulder. In the process, she knocked over one of her stalkers who had unwisely been standing just behind her. She didn’t even turn around and instead tapped her finger against her cherub lips in a pondering manner. Then she snapped her pianist’s fingers as if remembering something. “Lana, be a deary andeth Goethe dowbn 2to theth kitchen. Plez telleth the head cooker that I ownly can eateth these.”

 

She handed Koss a sheet of parchment – hot pink, with hearts dotting the ‘i’s – and then left in a flurry of hair and perfume. Koss felt her jaw drop as she read the contents – which went something like this:

 

_Liste of Eatable Thinges._

_Low-Fat Lembas_

_Fat-Free Foie Gras_ ( **1** )

_Sparkling Watere_

_Mallorn Salad_ ( **2** )

_Pizza (_ This one had apparently been crossed out hurriedly)

_Crébain Cake_

_(Illegible)_

_Signed,_

 

(Insert squiggly line that _looks_ mysterious and t3h kewl)

_Her Imperial Majesty Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie, Queen of Arda, Chatelaine of the Citadel, Empress of Minas Chloe_ ( **3** ) _, Ruler over all from the Sea of Rhûn to the Gulf of Lune, from the Northern Waste till Far Harad, Shooter of Ice-Beams, Owner of the Fourth Silmaril, Wife to Dark Lord Sauron [_ _greatest servant of the Dark Ainur Morgoth (formerly Melkor), ‘The Abhorred’, King of Men, Lord Of The Rings, Gorthaur, the Deceiver, the Necromancer, the Nameless Enemy, Ruler over all of Middle Earth, Wielder of the One Ring, Bigshot I-Told-You-So Boss of Arda, owner of all things EVIL, Yanker of Little Girls’ Ponytails and Elves’ Braids, Wedgie Scourge, The Great Lidless Eye Wreathed in Flame, All Time EVIL,  Puppy-Kicker, The Smite-r of All Who Oppose Him, Maker of the Twenty Rings of Power, Hater of the Númenóreans, Master of Melvins, The Re-re-re-incarnated, Wielder of the Wet Willy, Two-millennia Winner of Dark Lord Weekly’s All-Time Hated EVIL Megalomaniac, etcetera, etcetera]._

 

Koss squinted in an effort to read the last item on the ‘Liste’. It was either ‘Fissssh’ or ‘French Fries’, the latter of which was unfamiliar to her. She sighed; obviously she’d have to go down to the kitchens sooner or later.

 

She paused.

 

The kitchens, where all the food was.

 

The kitchens, where the poisons were kept.

 

The kitchens, where a careless hand could let slip a drop, maybe a whole bottle full…

 

Koss grinned EVILly as she took a detour to her office, untouched by the Sue-ness. She rifled through her papers. Before Sauron’s victory, the Witch King had given her a set of instructions for a method of Sue-killing Koss had been unwilling to try because Mordor had not had skilled cooks. The Orcs that made up the chefs of Barad-dûr thought that gourmet dining was a sprig of whatever weed they could find (parsley and other herbs were not available, obviously) chucked over whatever carcass they were having. But now…

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

“Cookies of Doom™?” ( **4** ) The little Hobbit raised his eyebrows at Koss. That is to say, the Head Cook of Minas ~~Tirith~~ Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie raised his eyebrows at Koss. She had initially been surprised that he’d risen through the ranks so fast, but then realised that the Hobbit had a spirit aided by a well-worn frying pan and an assiduously sharp cleaver.

 

“Yes. It is an old family recipe. The Dark Lord Sauron loves them, and no doubt his –” she was loathe to say it “– _bride_ will too.” Her eyes flickered around the room, where various kitchen staff stood motionless. No doubt they’d soon be bustling about to make foodstuffs for their Queen.

 

“Bride? You mean Mrs. Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie?” Sam asked, his eyes shining, much like they’d done in the past whenever someone mentioned Mr. Frodo. He skimmed the recipe in his hands. It did not seem _too_ difficult:

 

_1 ½ litres Sue Spit™, 3 Shiny Sue Things™ (also known as SueVenirs™), 1 litre Sue Blood™, 8 decilitres flour, 4 decilitres sugar, 3 bars of chocolate (taken from the Sue in question), ½ teaspoon salt, Anti-Sue™ Potion, dirty Orc laundry water(optional)._

_Warning: Treat the Sue Spit with caution, as it’s highly acidic!_  
  
1\. Smash the SST (Shiny Sue Things) into dust. The more vehemence you do this with, the better. Melt the chocolate bars in the Sue Spit.  
  
2\. Mix the Sue Blood and sugar and pour it into a steel cauldron – do not use a gold or silver one! Sues like those, and are liable to steal your cauldron. Add flour and salt, as well as the SST dust. Wait until the chocolate mixed with Sue Spit turns brown (this may take a while) before adding it as well. Stir in a counter-clockwise motion until all the ingredients have mixed well. (This won’t take long.)  
  
3\. Now we will move onto the Anti-Sue Potion, which you should have mixed together before trying to make the COD. (That should teach you to read through magical recipes before trying them!)  
  
Anti-Sue Potion:  
  
Blood from an Anti-Sue, willingly given (not much is needed), 1 litre water, white sage, 3 cinnamon sticks (for taste)  
  
i. Mix the blood with the water in your cauldron and bring it to a boil. While you wait for this to happen, do as follows:  
  
ii. Take the white sage, burn it and walk in a counter-clockwise circle around the cauldron while chanting:  
  
“I banish you, wicked, wicked Sue  
I banish everything you’ve brought with you  
Loneliness shall be your only friend  
The Power of Logic™ shall be your end!”

 

_Waving the egg-beater above your head and kicking out your left leg every seventh step is optional._  
  
iii. Repeat this over and over until you’ve finished your third circle. Smash the cinnamon sticks into dust, add to the boiling water, then stir counter-clockwise while repeating the chant once.  
  
iv. Here comes the most important part: after the chant has ended, you must bring up all your anger, resentment, and disgust towards all Sues. Feel it clearly and strongly, and picture it as a ball of black energy inside you. Imagine yourself bringing it out and into the potion, then repeat the chant, stirring counter-clockwise once more. You should be finished with the potion by then, so put out the fires beneath it and pour it into vials with harmless-looking elves etched into the glass. (This way, no Sue will suspect them for what they contain.)  
  
Now, back to the cookies.  
  
4\. Add the potion, then stir in a counter-clockwise motion. Again, pour out all your anger, resentment and disgust (but don’t shape it into a ball this time) while you repeat the chant 13 times.  
  
5\. When this is finished, take some Blessed Salt™ and draw a circle around you and the cauldron. Call upon the power of Morgoth to shape the cookies, then lie down on the ground (within the boundaries of the circle) and go to sleep, dreaming sweet dreams about destroyed and/or dismembered Sues. (Always remember to bring a pillow!)  
  
6\. When you wake up, the cookies should be finished.  
  
P.S. (Licking the cauldron would be a bad idea!) 

 

He blinked as he tried to figure out what that niggling feeling at the back of his head was, telling him that something, _something_ , was wrong. But at Koss’ fingers impatiently tapping a tattoo on the tabletop, he shook his head to clear it of such thoughts.

 

“Can it be done, head cook?” the Keeper of Sauron’s Sanity asked.

 

Sam, the Hobbit, dearest companion of Frodo Baggins (before he turned into Nazgûl 9 ¾, at any rate) nodded. “It can be done. But I will need your help...”

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

Exactly two hours and a pint of Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie’s blood later ("We're just testing you don't have some kind of, lyk, allergic reaction”), Koss emerged from the kitchens bearing a tray of the most alluringly lethal batch of cookies. The Cookies of Doom™ wafted an aroma that made you feel like dying; not because it smelled ghastly, but because you felt too undeserving to even look upon such a delicacy. But MarySues were – according to them – perfection personified and therefore would never feel inferior any batch of baked goods. That was the infallible part of the plan. Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie would not be able to resist, heart-shaped sprinkles on top notwithstanding.

 

Koss found the Self-Made Empress of Arda in the newly installed Jacuzzi on the fifth floor. This fact didn’t bother Koss so much, due to the fact that Sauron had on occasion held meetings while soaking in pools of lava in MountDoom – before he was forced into the form of the giant Fiery Eye, anyway.

 

Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie’s Jacuzzi Room, besides the distinct lack of thousand degree molten lava, differed only in the fact that various heart–HAREM–heart members were also present. What they were doing under the clear water (with no trace of swimming attire) was NOT something Koss wanted to speculate about, unless she wanted to lose her breakfast.

 

“Your greatest Majesty Chloe, I have come bearing treats from the Head Cook,” she called, carefully keeping her gaze trained on the floor. She was just thankful that there was enough steam rising from the water to sufficiently impair vision, to mask any unclothed bodies and whatever positions they were currently in.

 

“Er… just oneth minute minuteth, my deareth Lana…” Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie called out, and Koss ducked out of the room before she saw anything that’d jeopardise the condition of her own sanity. Some time later – but definitely more than a minute minuteth – Chloe emerged, this time fully clothed. Well, as much as one could be fully clothed in the lace-and-fishnet ensemble she had on. Arguably, though, the leather boots had to count for at least something.

 

Koss took in this ‘gothic’ outfit with a disdainful eye before thrusting the tray under Chloe’s nose. She could’ve sworn that there was a twitch in the ValarSue’s left cheek, the only sign of imperfection in her perfectly most perfectest heart-shaped, blemish-less, faultless, flawless, picture perfect, unspoiled etc. face. Of course, she must have imagined this, for Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie knew not the meaning of imperfection. (Okay, so she didn’t know the meaning of lots of other words, but just skim over that fact.)

 

“What areth theseth, Lana?” Chloe asked imperiously, the effect was rather spoiled by the fact that she sounded like her mouth was full of drool (the resulting question more along the lines of: “Wghat aretgh theeggtet, Llana?”, but Koss got the general gist).

 

“Cookies, my lady,” Koss explained with a bright smile. “The Dark Lord Sauron has one every morning and they make him especially powerful. I thought that, since you are so much _more_ powerful than he, you should eat a whole batch!” As an afterthought, she added, “Plus, their totally non-fat.”

 

The glint of greed was obvious in Chloe’s morganite ( **5** ) eyes. “Nogt fateth?” She swallowed heavily, and at Koss’ nod of confirmation, squealed with delight. A clawed hand – with fingernails painted a ghastly white with pink hearts – swiftly seized a few Cookies of Doom™, said cookies disappearing into the Sue’s wide mouth.

 

Koss patiently waited until Chloe had finished every single one, but even then the uber-Sue remained upright and, most disappointingly, alive. She watched with growing displeasure as Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie licked a few stray crumbs off her fingers.

 

“Do you… feel anything, your majesty?” Koss asked. When the ValarSue looked at her curiously, she hurriedly added, “More powerful, I mean. You know, after eating the Cookies of D – of Power.” Not a very original name, perhaps, but it hardly mattered when you were talking to someone who had more pairs of shoes than I.Q. points.

 

“Noteth noticeablyeth, Lana-kins. But, then againeth, I _ameth_ already so veryeth powerfuleth, don’t thee agree?”

 

“Of course,” Koss agreed despondently, cursing the Witch King. He and his stupid _Cookies of Doom™._ So much for getting her hopes up, she supposed, but there was always Grond Jr. –

 

“But noweth thateth thee mentioneth it, I thinketh I need the little Valar’s roometh. Excusteth moi.”

 

Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie dashed away (in a sexy fashion, if that was possible), leaving Koss with her eyes wide in surprise. Quickly, the Keeper of Sanity stashed the tray behind a suit of armour – she was sure it made an irritated noise – and followed the ‘wife’ of her employer.

 

What she found… was not a pretty sight. Chloe was holding back her hair with one hand, while two fingers of the other hand were forced down her throat – producing a horrible retching sound that accompanied the half-digested remains of the Cookies of Doom™. They, like a waterfall, made their graceful journey into the toilet bowl and into the mysterious abyss thereafter.

 

Oh, yes. Among the marvels brought to Arda by Chloe was the miracle of sanitary waste disposal. To put it more tastefully – or, rather, not so tastefully – plumbing. This was, however, as unimportant as the fact that the Valar!Sue had literally no idea where the contents of the toilet went after flushing. But that was another story for another time. Preferably one discussed by plumbers, who had the stomach for such things.

 

Anyways, when Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie looked up, wiping a stray heart-shaped sprinkle from the corner of her mouth, she was _not_ happy to see Koss gaping at her. “It’s noteth hwhat it looketh like, I sweareth Lana, luvvie. I _swear_ there was _real_ chocolate in there! _Witheth **fat** I! _Omigod, I couldeth haveth dieded with thateht much chocolate!” Chloe was too busy trying to convince herself that she had not enjoyed the cookies with the fat and chocolate that she didn’t notice the dark expression on Koss’ face or hear the spewing of profanity.

 

(As a point of interest, it would take about 6.15 kilograms to kill the average human. A point of interest, but one that is largely irrelevant to the storyline.)

 

“I take my leave, my liege,” Koss muttered darkly, turning on her heel and walking out of the bathroom. Ravara didn’t even notice.

 

Morgoth’s Balls, she should have taken this into consideration. There was no _way_ Mrs. Sauron’s figure stayed stick thin like that. It wasn’t natural. (Of course, MarySues themselves weren’t natural, but that was beside the point.) Bulimia was a horrible, horrible thing, only because it ruled out poison as a means of killing Chloe. Damn. ( **6** )

 

Soon enough, Koss reached her office. She was glad that Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie knew nothing of it, else it be bedecked in pink drapes and cut-out heart shapes on the walls. Plus all her weapons would be removed, and that simply Would Not Do. The Keeper of Sauron’s Sanity distractedly threw a dagger at the door – where it stuck, hilt quivering – while cursing her luck.

 

“Damn, damn, _damn_! Damn Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie!” She glared at Grond Jr., wishing she could smash Chloe’s head in. Her expression, however, turned to one of fascinated horror as she watched tiny pink flowers bud along the spikes of her mace. She ripped them off frantically and tossed them to the floor, where they shrivelled and turned to ash. Trepidation growing, Koss turned her gaze to the dagger still embedded in the wooden door.

 

“Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie.”

 

Immediately, flowers sprouted, encasing the blade and hilt in a Pink Petal-ed Prison™. Each individual blossom consisted of thousands of tiny petals, no two the same shade of pink, impossible though it sounded. But in a MarySue-ridden world, nothing was impossible, except perhaps being prettier than said Sues. Digression.

 

Koss’ glare reduced the pink vegetation to cinders.

 

Ravara – _Chloe_ – had reduced Middle-Earth to her personal playground, its inhabitants at her beck and call. Her only goal in life was to gain pleasure from the ‘hawties’ in her heart-HAREM-heart, to exhaust praise and worship from star-struck inhabitants and to otherwise wreak havoc with the Yin and Yang of Arda. And now, with flowers sprouting every time her name was spoken… That was it. That. Was. **IT.**

 

Grond Jr. felt very comforting in Koss’ hands.

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

Koss found Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie in Sauron’s Quarters, oddly enough. One would think she would be in the heart-HAREM-heart, or off inflicting mayhem by being herself. But, no, she was sitting on Sauron’s lap. Koss was surprised that Chloe’s skin was not pierced by the armour of the Dark Lord Sauron, greatest servant of the Dark Ainur Morgoth (formerly Melkor), ‘The Abhorred’, King of Men, Lord Of The Rings, Gorthaur, the Deceiver, the Necromancer, the Nameless Enemy, Ruler over all of Middle Earth, Wielder of the One Ring, Bigshot I-Told-You-So Boss of Arda, owner of all things EVIL, Yanker of Little Girls’ Ponytails and Elves’ Braids, Wedgie Scourge, The Great Lidless Eye Wreathed in Flame, All Time EVIL, Puppy-Kicker, The Smite-r of All Who Oppose Him, Maker of the Twenty Rings of Power, Hater of the Númenóreans, Master of Melvins, The Re-re-re-incarnated, Wielder of the Wet Willy, Two-millennia Winner of _Dark Lord Weekly’s_ All-Time Hated EVIL Megalomaniac, etcetera, etcetera.

 

Then again, Sue hide was unnaturally thick, much like the creatures themselves. It explained why the Orcs were so fond of using Sue Skin™ as leather – at least, before little miss Valar!Sue came along.

 

Without even greeting her dazed employer or his alleged spouse (why bother?), Koss hefted her favourite weapon and felt it connect with Chloe’s head with a satisfying _thunk_. The Empress of Sues toppled off her “husband’s” lap and into an untidy heap on the ground. The Keeper of Sauron’s Sanity brought Grond Jr. down in a decisive arc.

 

“Koss? What is going on? _And why in Morgoth’s name do I have a cape on_?”

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

Legolas Thranduillion, Prince of Mirkwood, Elf-boy, Winner-of-drinking-contests-with-dwarves, Koss' Pet, Emissary of the Silvan Elves of Mirkwood, Killer-of-Mûmakil, Torturer of Sues (ToS), Delight of the Fangirls, Traitor Extraordinaire, Head of the heart-HAREM-heart, and so on and so forth, shook his head. It felt as if all the clouds in the sky had just left his brain via his pointy Elvish ears. Ears that were picking up the sound of cracking knuckles and… was someone growling? He turned.

 

The rest of the heroes stood before him, anger plain on their faces. One glance at what they were wearing made Legolas raise a hand to his mouth to stifle his snort. But that made the bangles on his hand tinkle, and when he looked down at himself, his eyes widened in horror and his jaw dropped.

_What in Illuvatar’s name am I wearing?_ And, more pressingly as he heard the others approach _– Where’s Koss? I need her help!_

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

“Shire… Baggins?”

 

“You’re right… I can’t remember a thing, but I – Hey! Why are we in pink lace?”

 

As one, all the Ringwraiths screeched in revulsion at the horrible material that seemed to burn them right to their immortal souls. Well, bar one. Nazgûl No. 6 (Taylor) rubbed the material between his fingers thoughtfully. Frodo caught sight of this, and seeing as he was rather vertically challenged, shall we say, promptly kicked Taylor in the shins.

 

“Ow!”

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

Kreésh-När the Orc closed his eyes, counted as high as he dared, then opened them again. Damn! His faithful – enough – battalion of soldiers were all sitting in a circle, most with drums on their knees. And the worst thing was that every single one – himself included – were wearing _Man-clothes_. Urgh. Had they no honour?

 

He noticed the jewellery around his neck – what matter of devilry was this? This pendant with the ‘Earth’ letter ‘Y’ in a circle? (Koss had made sure that all captains were proficient in the tongues of all the peoples of Middle Earth, as well as the language called ‘English’.) He ripped if off, snarling, uncaring of the way it had cut into his skin.

 

Already the other members of the SoS were tearing off their ridiculous ‘clothes’, howling their distaste.

 

OoOoOoOoOo

 

“It was all her fault, Milord.” Koss gestured to the mangled body with the bloody Grond Jr.

 

“And who is _she_?” Sauron asked patiently, as patiently as a EVIL Dark Lord could be after being told that He had been controlled by some pink-eyed female. The cape had hurriedly been burnt to a crisp, lest He continue to be tainted by the influence of the Sue.

 

“She is Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie.” Obviously, Koss had forgotten why she shouldn’t speak _Her_ name, because she suddenly found herself struggling to keep a straight face. A pink flower had just sprouted. It was not very big, but it was very noticeable, especially against what it’d grown _on_.

 

It had sprouted on the very tip of Sauron’s nose. He squinted, trying to figure out what it was. “Koss… what is _that_?” He sounded almost… worried. Well, who wouldn’t be, after being subject to the every whim of a deluded, narcissistic, moronic, b –

 

– beautiful, loving, perfect…

 

Sauron’s gaze slid back out of focus as He smiled wanly, and another, gaudier cape adorned His shoulders.

 

Someone tapped Koss on the shoulder. Fully prepared to dress down whoever it was, she turned sharply, only for the retort to die on the tip of her tongue.

 

Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie (otherwise known as Chloe, Valar Sue, Mrs. Sauron, She-whose-name-grows-pink-flowers, Keeper and Exploiter of the heart-HAREM-heart, One with the Universe, Wielder of Rikumiku Shitzu, Destroyer of Punctuation, Rider of Xena Cutesywutesy Puffy Warrior Dragon, Eater of Health Food, One with the Impossible Body Parts, granddaughter of Morgoth, Dumbledore and Professor X, Owner of the Fourth Silmaril, and so on and so forth, blah, blah, blah, you get what I mean), tutted disapprovingly.

 

“Now, _that_ wasn’t very nice.”

 

OoOoOoOoOo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) To my knowledge Foie Gras is some type of pâté. It just sounded funny. Sue me. XD  
> (2) Not too appetising, I know, but what other leaves from LoTR can you remember, eh? And I mean specifically from LoTR, not pine and oak and things that you can find here.  
> (3) Modified from ‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe’ by C.S. Lewis. Means I don’t own it either.  
> (4) Suggestion by a loyal reviewer, Sushi-san. The instructions were hers as well, I just edited here and there. In case it wasn’t clear, Koss was the one who did the whole pouring anger and resentment and such. Sam did the cooking bits.  
> (5) A Morganite is a type of gem that is pink.  
> (6) In all seriousness, bulimia is a serious disorder. While it has been used for satirical purposes here, I must stress that I do not condone it, and I do not condone the shaming of people who suffer from it.


	11. 10 - Of Butterflies and More Dark Lords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, he was the first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: The ValarSue. And the destruction of the carefully built personas of Middle-Earth.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own LoTR, the Philosopher’s Stone, a deed to the biggest diamond mine on Earth and the planet Saturn. Oh, and Happy ‘Let’s-Lie-To-The-Reviewers-Who-Feed-Us’ Day.

Needless to say, Chloe was not very happy about Koss’ attempted murder. (Well, to be more accurate, Koss had _actually_ murdered the SuperSue.) The Keeper of Sauron’s Sanity, however, could not bring herself to genuinely give a damn. She had underestimated the enemy; stupid the Sue may have been, but she was powerful. Powerful enough to regenerate. No other MarySue or GaryStu that she had before faced had so much influence on Arda. Hell, no other Sue had been able to ensnare Sauron, Lord of the Rings.

 

But Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie had, and with much gusto on her part.

 

The Authoress brushed pink flowers from the screen of her monitor, and noticed that a few butterflies fluttered away as she did so. Pink glitter butterflies.

 

“I will have to punish you for being so impudent, Lana,” Chloe said disapprovingly.

 

Oh, didn’t I mention? The Cookies of Doom™ (COD for short) had had an effect on the ValarSue due to the contact it had made with her tongue and throat – so brief a contact it may have been. And so, while the mere existence of the Empress of Sues was hugely annoying, the fact that she could now speak in unflawed, un-Shakespearean English – as well as the Black Speech, Elvish, Westron, French, Martian, etc. – sort of made it a tiny bit more bearable.

 

**Yeah, if by ‘tiny bit more bearable’ you mean ‘yeah, no, she’s still fucking annoying and is a danger to the whole of Middle-Earth how dare you suggest a Sue be anything but’.**

 

Shut up.

 

**I will.**

 

At any rate, Koss wasn’t worried. There was no way a MarySue – newly repaired speech functions or no – could think up a worthwhile torture. She’d once had the misfortune of meeting a Sue who punished people by making them **_read_** _a **book**_. The villainy knew no bounds. Luckily, Koss had had the chance of killing said Sue – but not before making the Sue learn her ABCs.

 

Koss was right, what little comfort the thought brought her. Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie (shoo, butterflies!) made her sit in a room with another woman – Koss dimly recognised her as the sister of the Rohan King – sat opposite her. Éowyn then proceeded to inform Koss that she wouldn’t be getting a pony this year, or a car (whatever that was), or a diamond studded dress. And the IthilienStreet Guys weren’t going to perform at her birthday party. She was also grounded for two days, had to finish _all her homework,_ and curfew is at ten o’ clock, no arguing, young lady. And so on and so forth.

 

A bemused Koss walked out of the ‘torture chamber’ some time later, her ears ringing with ridiculous phrases like “no internet-chatting” and “no, you can’t borrow your father’s credit card”. Simply absurd. Only a Sue would think it torture. And speaking of Sues…

 

“I hope you have learned your lesson, Lana, dear. It’s simply not _safe_ waving around that… big heavy weapon thing!” Okay, so there were still aspects of Chloe’s vocabulary that needed to be worked on. Give her time.

 

“Of course, my Lady. I beg your leave, as I wish to retire. I am tired after the… punishment.” Koss turned on her heel and left before Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie could say another word.

 

* * *

 

It was some time later when Koss was forced to come out of the Sue-free Sanctuary™ that was her office, as the Empress wanted to see her. She found the uber-Sue sitting comfortably while floating a foot above the ground. Her feet were propped up on a hairy footstool, seemingly the only thing connecting her to the ground. That is, until Koss noticed Gandalf the White with his staff out.

 

The Authoress chose then to start a very bad rendition of ‘A Wizard’s Staff Has a Knob on the End’ ( **1** ), much to the disgust of her readers – which would really explain the number of reviews she’d gotten to this point. Really, 80 reviews for nine chapters (and a prologue)? Pitiful. And another thing –

 

This rant was abruptly cut off by the EVIL glare that was sent the Authoress’ way, courtesy of Koss.

 

Anyway, as was being said prior to the interruption, Gandalf the White, Olórin, Mithrandir, Tharkun, Greyhame, The Grey Pilgrim, Stormcrow, The White Rider, Lathspell, Incánus, Istari Supreme, User-of-Too-Much-Bleach, Disturber of the Peace, Slayer of Balrogs – a title also belonging to Glorfindel! –, Meddler in the Affairs of All Beings of Middle-Earth had been reduced to levitating the Empress of Sues as she lounged on the citadel. Koss realised with a start that the Istari was also giving grandfatherly advice in accordance with his role as ‘the old dude who spews random suggestions, yo’.

 

“Ah, Lana, good. I wanted to see you. That will be all, Gandy,” Chloe flashed a bright smile at the wizard, a smile brighter than the light of all the Silmarils combined – and this included the fourth one currently stuffed into the bosom of her dress.

 

Meanwhile, Olórin smiled dazedly from behind his beard. Koss was sure he murmured, “Lemon drops” before walking off someplace where he wasn’t so obstructive to the scenery. And such pretty scenery it was too; bluebirds twittering in the cloudless sky, pink flowers blooming under the sun and enough pollen in the air for every pause in conversation to be filled with sniffs or sneezes. Koss, having spent many, many years in Mordor with its ash- and dust-filled air, did not find this bothersome in the slightest.

 

Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie had gotten to her feet. It looked like she was wearing a cloak of wings but it was just a drove of butterflies, called into being by the mere mention of her name (and it had been mentioned quite a few times). Chloe looked as if she’d covered herself in nectar and stepped into a butterfly farm.

 

But something more pressing had caught Koss’ attention. It was the footstool. Or, at least, what she’d _thought_ was a footstool.

 

“Will you be needing anything else, my Lady?” asked Gimli the dwarf. Even from what little she knew of the Dwarf (and she knew very litte), Koss knew that he would _never_ deliberately lower himself to being Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie’s personal footstool – albeit a footstool now covered shimmering cherry-coloured butterflies. But it was terribly like the Sue to make a character she knew nothing about – and thought was ugly – into some kind of spineless servant. Or, in this case, employed equipment. ( **2** )

 

Chloe did not deign him with an answer – who talks to furniture? – and suddenly Gimli disappeared from view, air rushing in to fill the space he had previously occupied. A cloud of butterflies took flight, startled at their lack of perch. Koss snatched one by the wings and held it between her fingers. It was pink, obscenely so, and there were – Koss strained to see – letters along its wings. She could just make it out…

 

_RavarastwinkletoecutiepieRavarastwinkletoecutiepieRavarastwinkletoecutiepieRavarastwinkletoecutiepieRavarastwinkletoecutiepie…_

The Keeper of Sauron’s Sanity tossed the insect away in disgust. She surreptitiously wiped her hand on her dress – but then realised that the material of said garment was in no way going to rid her fingers of the sordid Sue’s prowess. And speaking of stomach-churning MarySues…

 

“Lana, dear, come here for a moment.” Chloe imperiously waved her over to where she was currently standing looking over the parapet, or what had been the parapet. The stone had cracks in it, where the flowers had taken root with a vengeance. What used to be known as the WhiteCity was better off being called the PinkCity at the rate things were going.

 

(Though Sam was having a good time, being a part-time gardener and all.)

 

“My lady?” Koss asked. She wandered over to Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie’s side – but not too close. She wasn’t sure how long she could hold from the Sue’s influence, and she wasn’t too optimistic about her chances.

 

“It is a very important question, Lana, and I want you to think about it carefully.” Never had Koss seen the Sue look so serious. Koss frowned, and then brightened. Maybe the Empress had finally realised that she did not belong in this world! In that case, Koss was more than happy to push her further using the power of Logic.

 

“The question I wanted to ask you is…” Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie broke off melodramatically with a sigh, and Koss wondered whether this particular conversation would take the whole night. Ah well. When it came to vanquishing Sues, she didn’t mind waiting.

 

Much.

 

“Lana… do I look _fat_ in this?”

 

Koss’ first instinct was to remark sarcastically and then have at it with Grond Jr. – the latter of which was a favourite conversation topic whenever she met Sues. But she surveyed the Sue carefully; Chloe had her arms held out so that she could show off her perfectly perfect curvy, slim, lean, toned and _natural_ body, now covered in the clone of the dress Arwen wore when she was dying in the Return of the King.

 

Koss blinked. How did she know that? This was bad. Ravara’s world, the Sue’s world, this place called _Earth_ … it was leaking into her subconscious, poisoning her thoughts. She needed to be careful.

 

“I don’t know, my lady Chloe,” Koss said, putting on a sincere look and forcing all traces of sarcasm from her tone. Though it was doubtful Chloe would recognise sarcasm if it came in the form of Gandalf and Gimli in spangly bikinis ( **3** ) singing ‘Hit Me Baby’. Koss inwardly winced; she wouldn’t be able to get rid of _that_ image. “I don’t think red is really your colour.”

 

An alarmed look flitted across the Sue’s perfect face. “What do you mean, Lana?”

 

“It kind of makes you look… puffy. But that might just be the light.” Koss was enjoying this new form of torture; she’d be sure to include it in the next SoS meeting. This thought sobered her up. If there _was_ a next meeting.

 

“Oh, NO! That’s horrible!” Chloe cried, and for a moment, she looked so miserable Koss felt a smidgen of pity. But that was kicked out of her head very forcefully once she remembered that Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie was the root of all her problems. This… shameless _hussy_ had destroyed the world her employer had worked so hard to acquire, and all to satiate her hunger for power as well as other, hormonal hungers. Anger overtook her once again, and she gave an almighty gasp, pointing randomly at the streets below.

 

“Is that Orlando Bloom?!” She vaguely remembered one of the Sues serenading Legolas and mentioning that he was ‘hawter then Orlando Bloom cud evr be1!’ It troubled Koss to know that she could somehow picture this ‘Orlando Bloom’s face, as well as a mental list of ‘movies’ he acted in. She shook her head.

 

At any rate, mentioning the name had the desired effect. Chloe whirled around, trying and failing to catch sight of the famous actor that didn’t even exist in Middle-Earth.

 

“WHERE!?”

 

Koss winced. It’d been some time since she had had to deal with the screaming of a Sue; Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie had never before done so in front of Koss. Anyway, said Sue leaned over the ramparts precariously and all Koss had to do was grab both her legs and shove them over. Chloe screamed, and tumbled off the citadel.

 

Koss smiled to herself as she made herself comfortable, resting her chin in her hand and watching the Sue’s progress with mild interest. Would she be impaled by one of the spire-like roofs? Would her body be horribly battered by bouncing off the many levels of the White – Pink – City? Would her remains be spread out far and wide, a reminder of the Power of Physics?

 

Nope.

 

Later, Koss would berate herself for choosing such a high place to push Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie off of. The sheer height made it possible for the MarySue to actually think. Or, not ‘think’ as such, because the idea of such a creature as a Sue _thinking_ is a laughable one. She was just able to devise a way to get out of being butter spread too thinly on the bread that was the streets.

 

Urple wings burst forth from the Sue’s back, and against all laws of the Earth – _and_ Middle Earth – that stated that humans had insufficient abdominal muscles to power wings –, Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie managed to not only stop her fall, but flap her way up to where Koss stood, surprised.

 

“That’s _another_ day grounded, Lana,” she said disapprovingly, as if to a small child. “And I’m taking away your hand-phone as well. You should learn never to lie, especially about Orlando Bloom.”

 

* * *

 

Koss had shut herself in the library, and she basked in the fact that Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie was as adverse to the idea of _books_ as her kinsmen. Though, Koss thought sourly, these butterflies of hers certainly had no trouble being near to the manuscripts and scrolls. She absently flicked one away from her current read: ‘Known Evils of Middle-Earth’. If her employer had been, well, _sane_ , he’d have been pleased to know that ‘Dark Lord Sauron’ had been the first words in the book, along with the complete list of his conquests and even longer list of titles.

 

After awhile she tossed it aside in disgust; Sues were in no way ‘known evils’. They were completely and utterly moronic, yes, but they weren’t ‘EVIL’ in the proper sense of the world, and they were too powerful for their own good. Chloe was a prime example.

 

The Gondor library had thousands of ancient books and scrolls, even more since Koss had made the SoS lug all the tomes from Mordor. They’d survive better in this climate. Idly Koss scanned the titles of the books strewn across the table she was currently seated at.

 

_Cooking for EVIL by Sushi-San85 (with special guest recipe by Chibi Binasu-Chan)_

_Fashion DON’TS of Middle Earth by Allergic-to-Paradox_

_Creator of EVIL (by Luthien-Noldor of Slytherin)_

_Magical Gardening the Istari Way by veritasa_

_Behind the Authoress by Cha Cha1_

_‘Are They Portents?’ A Dream Guide, by Araiona Dubois_

_If they make you wait, kill. With a spoon. (by Dawnsearcher)_

_Fili and Bree (a travelling companion) by Fili_

_How to Appreciate Humour (a collaborative book by Psalm 136 and Black P. Rose-Orchid)_

_12 Tips on Appropriate Theme Music by The White Mask_

_Summoning EVIL by DominusLinguae_

_Get the Most from **everyone** (by Sakuyo the Trickster Goddess)_

_EVIL Lords need Good Grammar by Nessa Ar-Feiniel_

_EVIL statues of Middle-Earth by R. Earrings_

_Knees Are For Begging (by Superelfie)_

_Anatomy for Trolls by Ainu Laire_

_Middle Earth Baby Names (by J. Casanova)_

_Parents, siblings, cousins; The Theory of Relatives (Where did they come from?) by Penyu_

_Speaking like a Native, a Ranger’s Guide by Jewelled Hunter_

_Flattery gets you everywhere (true story) by Elvenpwner_

_The Power of Jealousy, a dissertation by Swift hunter_

…and so on and so forth. ( **4** )

 

A scroll caught Koss’ eye. Actually, to say it was a scroll was too embellished a word. It was wedged between ‘Top Ten Ways of Torturing Elves’ and a copy of ‘PlayDwarf’ – no need to ask how _that_ got there, or what content it had, shudder. Koss almost ripped it in two trying to free it; the parchment was that brittle. In ancient Tengwar script written in what looked suspiciously like blood, or at least very brown and flaky ink, proclaimed:

_Morgoth, you old fart,_

_Heard about the banishment. Too bad for you. I guess I’d better carry on the reign of terror and darkness on Arda – **someone** has to do it right. _ (Insert suitably EVIL smiley-face) _Have fun in the void!_

_XOXO_

_Sauron (no longer your servant!!!)_

Bemused, Koss turned the parchment over and saw the ‘written’ reply. The letters looked like they’d been carved into the paper, impossible though that was. Even as she read through the short text, the lettering floated around her head and set about attacking the butterflies.

 

_Shut up, Sauron, you ninny. I was the better Dark Lord, and you know it. **I** was so dangerous I had to be locked up in the Void, whereas the rest of these pansy-Valar thought you too harmless to be bothered with._

_Ha, so there!_

_Morgoth (RO ><OrZ) _( **5** )

 

As butterflies attempted to escape the Library, Koss suddenly shot up in her seat. Of _course_! Morgoth could help her!

 

Now… how to get the erstwhile Valar out of the Void?

 

* * *

 

Koss told Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie that she was going for a walk.

 

And why not? Just because there was a SuperSue in the Citadel ruling over Arda didn’t mean that she couldn’t relax by walking around in whatever was left of the Sod-StalkingRange. It pleased Koss to find that not _all_ of the ‘forest’ was filled with cutesy-wutesy animals and fake trees. There were still dark and sinister areas, and although this was probably so that there were places for Sues to rescue/be rescued by their hero(es) of choice, whatever creatures lay within knew better than to mess with Koss.

 

Koss had a hard time convincing the SuperSue that going to the forest in her ‘dress’ would ruin it. Now, though, she was clad comfortably in her normal attire. The only oddity in the whole picture was the basket she carried; it had been part of her excuse that she wanted to collect ‘pretty flowers’. Idly, Koss chucked the basket on the ground, and sat atop a sizeable piece of rubble that had vines digging deep into its cracks.

 

She knew there was only one way to call forth Morgoth, short of pleading with Illuvatar himself. It was a choice she was loath to take, though. Sad to say, it was inspired by a past Sue, and therefore there were many risks that came with it. Bad enough Chloe affected her as it was; Koss shuddered to think what would happen to Arda if she completely fell to the sway of Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie.

 

The butterfly this produced fluttered unwisely into the vegetation, in which it was eaten by some carnivorous plant or other. It wasn’t important.

 

A vine – or what she’d thought was a vine – next to Koss shifted slightly, and she smiled wickedly. Using quick instincts honed by killing Sues, she grabbed the snake and stuffed it into her basket. She may not have solved her conundrum, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t give Chloe a present in the mean time.

 

If the ‘peepooleth’ of Gondor had any idea what was going on around them, they might have noticed ‘Lana’ snickering quietly to herself as she passed them on the way to the citadel, the basket she held in her hands making slight hissing noises. As it was, they were not aware of their surroundings, and carried on blithely about their business without a care in the world.

 

* * *

 

Alright. This was it – do or die. Or, actually, do or turn into a Sue.

 

Dying was a more attractive option.

 

See, Koss was previously a Sue, in the loosest sense of the word. What differentiated her from most Sues was that she was able to fight off her Author and throw off the shackles of her story. But Lana (Koss, _before_ ) was still buried somewhere in the deepest darkest recesses of her soul, which meant that Koss still technically could call on the powers of a MarySue.

 

As any fool knew, one of these powers a Sue had was the ability to summon whatever or whoever at her leisure. It explained why Koss was back in the Library; to test out her theory in a place of least Valar!Sue influence.

 

She heard a scream somewhere in the distance, and smirked. Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie must have received her ‘gift’, the snake she had found in the Sod Stalking Range™. If it was a poisonous one, and if it had managed to bite the Sue, then all the better.

 

But back to the task at hand. Koss closed her eyes and steeled herself, hoping that she when she opened them again they wouldn’t be ‘orbs of sapphire’ framed by ‘shining chocolate waves to her perfectly shaped hips’. Else Middle Earth be doomed. Even more than it was already, anyway.

 

“Melkor, I choose you!” she shouted. ( **6** )

 

It was a variation on the battle cry of a past Sue. Her name had been Saya Adalah Seorang Yangsangatbodoh, or something like that, and she had thrown a funny, fist-sized ball from which emerged a creature that definitely was not a native of Middle Earth. How could something that was yellow, had little beady black eyes, and an angular tail be normal? Besides, it’d kept on saying “Pika pika” which, after a short while, got _very_ annoying. A single Orc had taken care of the animal anomaly with the judicious use of a flail.

 

When Sauron’s Sanity Keeper risked a peek at her surroundings, she was pleased to see that she was not thinking in mixed tenses, nor was she ridiculously proportioned. That was reassuring. She warily grasped Grond Jr. – for it was still Grond Jr., and not a jewelled sword called ‘Glamdringstingnarsilalala’ – because it was always wise to keep weapons handy when summoning unspeakable EVIL.

 

Of course, this only applied when said unspeakable EVIL was actually present.

 

Koss bit out a curse and stormed out of the Library. Ungoliant help the poor sod who crossed her path – and that happened to be a random Orc who was staring off into space. To be honest, the Orc was not so random seeing as he has been mentioned before; for he was Thrall, the fast-acting SoS Captain.

 

Seeing and recognizing him did absolutely _nothing_ for Koss’ temper, except maybe make it worse. Thrall started when she kicked him, hard.

 

It took him some time to realise she was ranting at him, and he screwed up his forehead trying to decipher what she was actually saying. After realising that she wasn’t speaking Suevian, he made some effort to finally understand that she was yelling the following:

 

“…useless bloody Orcs, train you against Sues and the first thing you do when little miss perfect comes along is don clothes and beat drums! Like a bunch of **censored**! Have you no dignity, no honour? No, of course not. Clearly. Melkor knows that it’s useless coming here, that’s why He didn’t even bother to –”

 

Thrall blinked a few times, and then asked, “Who’s this Melkor dude?”

 

Koss stopped mid-tirade, and turned narrowed eyes on him. Her voice was extremely dangerous, and had the Orc-captain been in a better state of mind (i.e. not enslaved by a maniacal Sue) he would be a few miles in the other direction by now. “ _What_ did you say?”

 

The member of the SoS smiled happily and repeated himself. Had he been aware of the look Koss was giving him, no doubt he would be a puddle of melted Orc.

 

“You know not of Melkor, the mightiest of the Ainur? Melkor, named Morgoth by Fëanor son of Finwë? Morgoth, the one who spread lies among the Noldor because he lusted after the Silmarils? You have learned about Him since before you were first accepted into the ranks of our Lord Sauron’s army, and you now tell me that you do not know who the creator of the Balrogs is? The Black Enemy, Belegûr, Bauglir, Belergurth, Passim! Morgoth, Morgoth, MORGOTH!”

 

There was a sonic boom accompanied by a burst of gale-force wind. Koss’ braid whipped around with it. Thrall gave a very girlish scream and ran off, probably to inform the Empress of what was happening. The air had a sudden bone-chilling tinge to it and all the nearby flowers had died, incinerated to the last petal. Little tongues of flame danced about on the stone of the floor.

 

A terrible and fear-provoking voice announced:

 

“Mandos, if this is another one of your, tricks, I swear I’m going to shove my – wait a minute… This is not the Void! I have escaped!” The triumphant laugh that followed was akin to the howls of giant Wargs. “…now if I only knew _how_ I did it…”

 

Koss bowed to the Dark Lord (this being Melkor, of course, and not _the_ Dark Lord Sauron. But you already knew that).

 

Morgoth finally noticed her. “What do you want, _Elf_? I see no reason for you to summon me. Even if you _did_ manage to summon me.” That was most definitely not grudging admiration in His voice, no siree.

 

He unsheathed a majestic looking sword, His current weapon of choice. It was nothing like Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie’s sword, Mikuriku Shitzu (with its Japanese-y runes along the blade, and a hilt embedded with silver, gems and silver gems); Melkor’s weapon exuded EVIL in its most basic form – and that, dear readers, had nothing to do with the fact that it was caked in blood of all the races of Middle-Earth. Morgoth watched the butterfly’s progress with mild disinterest and then reduced it to ashes without a thought.

 

Koss straightened, and met the erstwhile-Valar’s gaze, and saw the impressed air buried deep within. (Again, it paid to be skilled at meeting your employer’s gaze when he was in fiery eye mode.) It was time to sell her pitch.

 

“My Lord, I desire your aid. A witch has ensnared Arda and as far as I can determine, I am the only commonsensical being left. But she – the MarySue – is impossible for me to kill. Surely for one as formidable as you, an Ainur, it would be a piddling effort to slay her.”

 

“That is _all_? You wish for me to kill someone?” Morgoth scoffed, although He looked quite flattered at the prospect. After all, an Elf had summoned Him and from the Void, no less, to deal with a problem no one else could. “Could my _successor_ Sauron not handle this… thing?”

 

“He has, ah, _married_ her, my Lord.”

 

Morgoth’s laughter was like ear-splitting thunder this time, and He said, “That’s a good one! I always knew he was a useless piece of filth, binding his soul to a piece of jewellery.”

 

“He did win the War of the Ring, my Lord.”

 

“Did he?” Morgoth looked somewhat surprised. “Well, it’s not like I know all that is happening in Arda; it’s hard to find things out in the Void. Very well, I shall aid you. It will be amusing to watch Sauron awaken from his ensnarement and see who has fished him out of trouble. After all, I’m the true Dark Lord with the most!” ( **7** ) He snickered. “Lead on, then, Elf.”

 

Koss gave another, shorter bow and then walked towards where she imagined Chloe would be right now; the Throne Room. No doubt Thrall had informed the SuperSue about their ‘visitor’. Chloe was of the opinion that she looked imperious sitting on her throne of pure gold, surrounded by the fey glow of the urple walls. This light, however, died as soon as Koss slammed the doors open.

 

“Lana! Where were you? I am told – I mean, I _foresaw_ that we have a very important guest, and –” Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie trailed off as she finally realised their ‘very important guest’ had indeed arrived – and with much flair.

 

Shadows crept into the hall like they had every right to be there, and the urple-ness of the place faded. Again the temperature dropped, turning every breath of air to ice in Koss’ lungs. The torches along the walls flickered as a fell wind swept through the room.

 

And Melkor, named Morgoth by Fëanor son of Finwë, Destroyer of the Two Trees, re-possessor of the Silmarils, the mightiest of the Ainur, The Black Enemy, Belegûr, Bauglir, the Enemy, Belergurth, Passim, Coveter of the Silmarils, ex-boss of Sauron, the Black Foe of the World and Hater of Spiders, stepped into the Throne Room and smiled, and it was terrible indeed.

 

Koss beamed once she heard Chloe’s shriek. But this grin slowly slid off her face. Why, you may ask?

 

For one, the Sue’s shriek had been more of a shout of surprise and gladness than one of terror. Secondly, Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie had ran – no, _glided_ with poise – across the hall and flung her arms around the ex-Valar. And, thirdly, there was that issue about Morgoth’s now glazed over eyes.

 

“Granddaddy! You came for a visit!”

 

* * *

 

(1) That, my readers, is stolen from the Discworld series by Terry Pratchett. Yet another thing I do not own – and the lyrics I like best of the ones I’ve found can be seen below. Needless to say, I don’t own those either.  
(2) Do not flame me for this. I know Gimli is a great dwarf, and a favourite to many. Hells, he’s one of my favourites. BUT, Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie does not like him, and since she can control people, why not make them do embarrassing stuff they’d never do in real life?  
(3) THANK YOU, Allergic-to-Paradox. I really needed the mental image. -_- (That, dear readers, is SARCASM.)  
(4) That’s a bit of a tribute to my reviewers. All the titles have a specific tie with the reviewers, based on reviews/suggestions/emails they sent. =) The complete list will be at the very end of this chapter.  
(5) I’m not totally sure if this is netspeak, but it basically means “Morgoth Rocks”. Or that’s what I want it to mean. Ssh.  
(6) Yes, that is a blatant reference to Pokémon (which I don’t own). Let’s just say Koss has met a Sue from that world.  
(7) A Beetlejuice reference (“I’m the ghost with the most!”). Because Morgoth’s summoning revolves around the idea of Beetlejuice’s summoning – you know, repeating his name three times. Thank Cha Cha1 for the idea. =)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (The footnotes are in the actual title because they do not fit in the notes box.)
> 
> Book titles:
> 
> 1\. Cooking for EVIL – Sushi-San85 was the one who came up with the Cookies of Doom™. Chibi Binasu-Chan baked cookies for me. (Cyber cookies, of course.)
> 
> 2\. Fashion DON’TS of Middle Earth – Allyp was the one who induced the images of our favourite Istari and Dwarf in spangly bikinis. Shudder.
> 
> 3\. Creator of EVIL – Luthien-Noldor of Slytherin is the creator of Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie; I just borrowed her for a bit… and made her worse.
> 
> 4\. Magical Gardening the Istari Way – veritasa was the one who spawned the idea of pink flowers growing every time someone says ‘Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie’.
> 
> 5\. Behind the Authoress – Cha Cha1 is my new beta. (You know, I had such an impulse to say my new apprentice? Darth Cha Cha1!)
> 
> 6\. ‘Are They Portents?’ A Dream Guide – Araiona Dubois mentioned something about having a nightmare about Sues. My sympathies.
> 
> 7\. If they make you wait, kill. With a spoon – Dawnsearcher did not like the fact that I took so long updating and also suggested I kill Chloe off with a blunt spoon.
> 
> 8\. Fili and Bree (a travelling companion) – To Fili, with a special shout out to her brother Bree; both act out scenes from my fic. =)
> 
> 9\. How To Appreciate Humour – both Psalm 136 and Black P. Rose-Orchid say my fic is hilarious.
> 
> 10\. 12 Tips on Appropriate There Music – The White Mask made this funny comment “DUM DUM DUMMM!” in a review.
> 
> 11\. Summoning EVIL – DominusLinguae suggested the summoning of Melkor to get rid of Chloe.
> 
> 12\. Get the Most from everyone – Based on Sakuyo the Trickster Goddess’ review of “more, more, more, more!”
> 
> 13\. EVIL Lords need Good Grammar – Nessa Ar-Feiniel commented on the grammar and spelling of the Sues that irritated he/she.
> 
> 14\. EVIL statues of Middle Earth – Radish Earrings liked my statues of Sauron.
> 
> 15\. Knees Are For Begging – To Superelfie for begging so nicely (“please, please, please, please”)
> 
> 16\. Anatomy for Trolls – a spoof on those ‘…for Dummies’ books, which I don’t own. Ainu Laire commented that he/she didn’t know what a spleen was. XD
> 
> 17\. Middle Earth Baby Names – Jenny Casanova was interested to hear my brother was named “Rohan” and wanted to know whether I had a sister named “Gondor”. Sorry, hon, I don’t.
> 
> 18\. Parents, siblings, cousins; The Theory of Relatives (where did they come from?) – Penyu happens to be related to me.
> 
> 19\. Speaking like a Native; a Ranger’s Guide – Jewelled Hunter imitated Suethors in one review.
> 
> 20\. Flattery Gets You Everywhere (true story) – Elvenpwner, for being so flattering.
> 
> 21\. The Power of Jealousy, a dissertation – Swift Hunter suggested the use of Jealousy of the other Sues and Stus against Chloe.
> 
>  
> 
> (Chorus.)  
> A wizard's staff has a knob on the end, knob on the end, knob on the end  
> A wizard's staff has a knob on the ennndddd!  
> What he does with it is magic!
> 
> A wizard's staff has a knob on the end  
> And runes run up the shaft  
> It's long and proud and stiff and loud  
> It's the pride of wizardcraft.
> 
> (Chorus.)
> 
> A wizard's staff has a knob on the end  
> Some are made from thinking wood  
> With a sapient pair you'd be out to there  
> And you'd go blind, yes you would.
> 
> (Chorus.)
> 
> A wizard's staff has a knob on the end  
> That looks like a silver nut  
> If you start to bleat when he's taken your seat  
> He'll crack it up your butt.
> 
> (Chorus.)
> 
> A wizard's staff has a knob on the end  
> And the odd frog knows it's true  
> When your staff has a bend then the spell you send  
> Can fly right back at you.
> 
> (Chorus.)
> 
> (Under Construction)  
> A wizard's staff has a knob on the end  
> Most useful if they knew it  
> It's just that fem isn't magical to them  
> So they never ever do it.
> 
> (Chorus.)
> 
> (last verse maestro please)
> 
> A wizard's staff has a knob on the end  
> And you may think it's tragic  
> That no matter how strong or thick or long  
> All he can do with it is magic.
> 
> (Chorus.)

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own LoTR.


End file.
